


When the Garrison Came Tumbling Down

by DebbieF



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen, Takes place shortly after season one, also of course there's violence in the story but there will be more in the final chapter, episode 10 - “Musketeers Don’t Die Easily”, hence the changed rating to teen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-10-12 10:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 38,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10489152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebbieF/pseuds/DebbieF
Summary: This is a prompt from bbcmusketeerskink.dreamwidth site and I thought I’d tackle it.There's a lot to the prompt to cover but I'll see what I can do.++++





	1. Chapter 1

This was the prompt given:  
Set before season 2  
The Garrison bombed. A disbanded Red Guard. And an angry king.  
The trio are sent on a mission, leaving an ill little brother behind. Not a day later the Garrison is bombed. Leaving many injured and a captain & a young Gascon trapped beneath the rubble. Louis is not amused, not only is his favorite Musketeer and a captain he considered family missing, but the one behind it all is one of the main men he has ever fully trusted the most. The cardinal (and his guard). Meanwhile, d'Artagnan is trying to keep a very concussed captain awake, whilst hiding his own injuries and illness. Hoping his brothers find them soon.

\- King Louis slowly maturing/becoming more competent  
\- Family/BAMF Musketeers (all)  
\- Treville and D'artagnan have "bonding" moments  
\- BAMF! Queen Anne  
\- The Dauphin is not Aramis' son. He never slept with Anne, but is the one that figured out she is pregnant.  
\- Constance is more like a sister to d'Art, and an honorary Musketeer (unofficially).  
\- D'Artagnan means a lot to everyone, not just the Inseparables. Doesn't help he's the youngest, much to his chagrin.  
\- Cardinal getting his dues  
\- Louis also find out he tried to kill his queen, adding more salt to his wound of betrayal.  
\- Milady is dead

++++

_Very early morning - Garrison stables_

“I don’t like going off not knowing how d’Artagnan is.” Tightening the cinch on Belle, Aramis glanced at Athos knowing the older man felt the same way. Matter of fact Athos had given Captain Treville quite an earful before leaving to get supplies for their mission.

“I knew the whelp was goin' ta get sick from all the rain we 'ad ta ride back in.” Throwing two satchels over Roulette’s back, Porthos thought back to their last assignment. “It was like the heaven’s opened up just on d’Art.”

“Tis because the lad doesn’t where a chapeau,” Aramis tisked. “That’s why he resembled a drowned rat by the time we came home.”

“Enough talk on this!” Athos shouted. “We cannot do anything about it.” He pinned both his brothers with a sharp look. “Tis a short assignment so the sooner we get to Fountainebleau and back again the sooner we can be with d’Artagnan.”

“Sound thinking, Athos.” Dipping his head in agreement, Aramis mounted Belle. Likewise Porthos did the same with Roulette.

Riding out of the stables, all three Musketeers cast their eyes toward the infirmary where their sick little brother laid.

++++

_Infirmary_

Coughing up what felt like a lung to him, d’Artagnan was so tired. He had a fever that still raged and a sticking pain in his side that hurt like a bitch. It didn’t help that Doctor Devereaux kept dosing him with concoctions that tasted even worse than Aramis' draughts.

Even though he had yet to tend another Musketeer that had stopped in with a minor injury, Devereaux wanted to keep a close eye on the young Gascon. Heaven help him if he let anything happen to the lad, or the inseparables just may run him through with their blades without listening to what he had to say first. Devereaux knew the instant they brought d’Artagnan to him that he was suffering from pneumonia. Which meant the boy’s lungs were inflamed. He wasn’t happy with the short rapids breath coming out of the youth either. Why the deuce didn’t the king give more money to Captain Treville to make sure the men could stay on at an inn when it poured like the very dickens? Ah, bien, that was a question Devereaux may pose to King Louis when the young Monarch was in a good mood. It would certainly make his life easier instead of having to treat cases like d’Artagnan’s simply because the lad had the misfortune to ride home in a downpour.

Checking his patient once more, Devereaux could feel the heat still radiating from the Gascon’s forehead even before he touched it. Clucking his tongue he went to warm some towels to place on d’Artagnan’s chest. If anything it would help the chills wracking the boy’s slender frame. When Devereaux laid the towels on the youngster, d’Artagnan looked up at him gratefully. “Try to rest.” He smiled down at him, patting the lad’s arm before returning to the other Musketeer that was whining about a splinter, of all things, being lodged in his hand.

++++

_Palais-Cardinal_

“I don’t care how hard it will be!” Shouting until he was nearly purple in the face, Richelieu glared at one of his hirelings. “Just get it done!” Looking with disgust upon the man who had already done prior dirty work for him, Richelieu began to think that perhaps next time he'd seek someone else out.

“Now get out of my sight and make sure none of the Musketeers see you leaving from here!” Sliding into his chair Richelieu leaned into the cushioned back, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Good help is so hard to come by these days,” he murmured into the silence of his office.

If it hadn't been for Treville whispering in Louis' ear everytime there had been a misstep made by his men, Richelieu's Red Guards wouldn't have been disbanded. The king had graciously allowed for him to have a small retainer of Red Guards for his own protection but the rest had to go. He would get his own back soon. If all went well on the morrow, Richelieu would be comforting His Majesty. Then the young monarch would have to rely heavily on Richelieu’s own guards and not those damned Musketeers!

++++

_Infirmary_

“I’ve lost count of how many of Treville’s men have stopped in to see you, d’Artagnan.” Watching the boy’s last visitor leave, Devereaux smiled at the Gascon. “You’re quite the favorite around here. Tis good to see.”

“Oui.” Beginning to violently cough again, the doctor helped d’Artagnan to sit up. When gaining his breath he added, “But tis hard… being… the youngest.”

“I can understand the teasing you'd get rather rubs you up the wrong way at times.” When the lad wearily nodded his agreement, it was then a young woman strode in.

“Charles d’Artagnan!” Standing at the foot of her friend’s bed, Constance frowned. Worry filled her because he looked white as the flour she baked with. She heard the coughing fit he had, as Constance climbed the steps to the infirmary. “You’ll do anything to get out of helping me deliver my orders.” Gently teasing him, Constance hoped to bring a smile to his lips.

“Apologies, my lady.” Trying to give her a cheeky grin, d’Artagnan failed miserably when he began hacking again.

Scared, she glanced at the physician. But upon noting Doctor Devereaux was taking d'Artagnan's illness in stride, Constance tried to do the same. Still the young Gascon was like a brother to her and it was hard not to make a fuss over him. Especially when he was sick like this.

"Constance, would you be so kind as to ask Serge for a bowl of warm broth. If d'Artagnan can keep that down I believe it shall help warm him from the inside out." Observing the looks the young woman was giving the boy, Devereaux thought it better to put her to work.

Her eyes betrayed the fear she held for him. Taking Constance's hand into his own, d'Artagnan placed a chaste kiss upon her palm. "Do not worry... so."

Gliding her hand through his long, sweaty hair Constance reciprocated, placing a kiss on d'Artagnan's forehead. "I won't be long," she whispered, drawing some of the blankets up to his chin.

After she left d'Artagnan caught the doctor's arched brow as the other man watched Constance leave. "It's not what... you're... thinking." He tried to chuckle in-between coughing fits. "Constance is... the... sister of my heart... and unofficially an... honorary Musketeer... too."

"That I am not surprised to hear," Devereaux chuckled. "I have heard quite a lot about how Mademoiselle Constance has helped you and the inseparables out." Rubbing his chin, Devereaux gazed down at the Gascon. " _Sister_ , eh?"

"Mmmmm," d'Artagnan hummed. "I've lost... count at... the many... times she's tried to play... matchmaker for... me."

"I can only imagine what a trying experience that would be for you, young man." Eyes slowly roaming the room they shifted to fall once more on the ill lad. "It would appear that you are now my only patient. Which means you'll receive my undivided attention." Checking d'Artagnan's fever, Devereaux winked at the Gascon. "Aren't you the lucky one?"

"Right now I feel... anything... but lucky." Chills overcame d'Artagnan and he huddled under the mounds of blankets piled on top of him.

"Perhaps I should fetch more blankets." About to do just that Devereaux turned back around when the boy groaned. "What did you say?"

"Do you want to... suffocate...me?" Managing a slight huff of annoyance, d'Artagnan pointed to the many blankets he already had.

"And have the wrath of Athos, Porthos and Aramis fall on me." Eyebrows shooting up, Devereaux shook his head. "I don't think so." Patting the Gascon on the shoulder he walked away. "Soon Constance will be here with that soup. Then it will be time for more medicine." When d'Artagnan scrunched up his face at that news, Devereaux waved a finger at him. "How old did you say you were?"

"Old enough," d'Artagnan shot back. Lungs aching, side still paining him and now his throat felt raw from all his coughing, weary beyond belief his eyes drifted shut.

When Constance returned, Devereaux placed a finger on his lips indicating for her to be quiet as d'Artagnan had fallen asleep.

Whispering she said, "But the soup is hot now."

"I can always have it heated up but the boy needs to rest when he can." Taking the bowl from her Devereaux placed it on a tray.

"I'll check on him later." With a last look over her shoulder at d'Artagnan, Constance departed.

++++

_Next day - Infirmary_

"How are you feeling, son?" Pulling up a chair, Treville sat down. His eyes skimmed over the worn features of his youngest Musketeer. "And don't lie because I'll know if you are."

About to do exactly that, d'Artagnan's mouth opened and closed like a guppy fish. "I am slightly... better, sir." When he saw the captain's hand reaching for his forehead, d'Artagnan tried to dodge it but with little success.

Feeling the feverish skin beneath his fingertips, Treville winced. "I suppose it was too much to ask that you would tell me the truth."

When Doctor Devereaux joined them, d'Artagnan looked to the physician to help him out.

Knowing the predicament the youngster was in but not wanting to lie to the captain Devereaux said, "There has been an improvement."

Folding his arms Treville studied the doctor. "In what way?"

"His fever was worse yesterday and has gone down slightly and d'Artagnan's breathing has improved to where he's not coughing constantly." That much was the truth. "I won't be happy until his lungs clear up and his fever abates." Dragged from his thoughts when the door to the infirmary slammed open, Devereaux watched as a Musketeer ran inside.

"Doctor Devereaux you're needed down in the courtyard right away. Martin had an accident with one of the horses and we're afraid to move him." Feeling badly that he had to bother the physician, since he was tending to d'Artagnan, Rene cast a sheepish look toward the youngster.

"Captain, would you mind staying here with d'Artagnan until I return?"

"I had planned on being here for a time anyway." Waving Devereaux to be on his way, Treville made himself comfortable.

++++

_Garrison grounds_

Skulking around the Garrison, Cyprien was pleased with his work this day. This should assure him a goodly sum of money that the cardinal would be paying him. As far as he was concerned, the job was finished. All the fuses had been lit now so he shouldn't waste time hanging around here or else Cyprien would be caught up in the inferno. Passing through the gates on his way to the city, he smiled to himself with the knowledge that soon nothing would be left of the Garrison but ashes.

++++

It was mere minutes after Cyprien departed when multiple explosions ripped through the Garrison. There wasn't a man that hadn't been caught up in the nightmare that followed. Bodies flew through the air, mingled with screams of anguish from the injured. There wasn't a building left untouched, as flames licked at the wooden structures. In minutes they collapsed trapping any unfortunate soul that remained inside them. It was a scene out of Dante's Inferno. For those who didn't know what hell would look like... this was a preview.

++++

_The streets of Paris_

Delivering bolts of cloth to her customers, Constance was startled when she heard the thunderous sounds of explosions coming from the Garrison. Noting flames shooting high into the air, a terrible feeling overcame her. " _D'Artagnan!_ "

++++

_Garrison_

Heavy bricks and flaming pieces of wooden beams littered the dirty ground. Hot ashes were thick in the air, making it very hard to breathe. Buildings continued to burn wildly, while Musketeers tried to gather their wounded to be taken to the palace grounds. For it was then that the Musketeers realized that the infirmary was no more.


	2. Chapter 2

_Streets of Paris_

That afternoon when the inseparables rode back into the city they were curious as to why so many of the Parisians were rushing toward their Garrison. Some, they noted, came running back from that same direction looking like they had suffered a severe shock of some type.

Sniffing the air, Aramis twisted in his saddle to gaze upon his brothers. “Sulfur?” Now that he had mentioned it his nose wrinkled up, also catching the acrid smell of gunpowder in the air.

“Mon Dieu! Look!” cried Porthos, pointing toward the Garrison gates.

It was then that the men noted flames licking the air along with giant smoke plumes covering the skies, darkening them to the point where a thick haze blocked out the sunlight. They then urged their mounts to a fast gallop. Arriving at the gates, not knowing what to expect, they tethered their horses outside. Racing into the Garrison, they were met with a devastation so terrible the inseparables thought they had stepped into a nightmare.

There wasn’t a building spared from what they perceived was wrought by multiple explosions. Tons of debris littered the ground so that they had to tread carefully less they stumble over their own two feet or some poor soul. Their Garrison had been decimated. Reduced to nothing but a pile of rubble.

Taking in the fact that many of their comrade-in-arms were scattered throughout the Garrison, the inseparables immediately scrambled to help where they were most needed. They thanked the good Lord for small mercies, when they discovered that the many wounded far outweighed the brothers they had lost.

Being the lieutenant of the regiment, Athos’ first concern was to help as many of the soldiers that he could. Struggling to carry the dead weight of Burcet over to the wagon that was hauling injured Musketeers over to the palace, Athos’ worried gaze swept the courtyard landing on the area where the infirmary should have been. _Should have been?_ Having been so preoccupied with their rescue operations, he hadn’t taken time to consider his protégé’s fate. “ _MON DIEU!_ ” he cried out as if pierced through the heart. For that is what it felt like.

Handing over Burcet’s care to Averill, Athos rushed over to where another group of Musketeers were desperately trying to clear debris away from where the infirmary used to stand. Craning his neck, Athos tried to locate his friends. When he spotted them knee deep in rubble, Athos waved them over. “ _ARAMIS!... PORTHOS!... THE INFIRMARY!_ ”

In their desperation to help the injured, Aramis hadn’t taken time to consider that the infirmary had become a casualty as well as everything else. At this point there had been no time to ask the many questions on his tongue. It never even crossed his mind why their men were being taken to the palace. He just assumed the infirmary was overflowing with the wounded. Letting his other brothers take care of Damien, whose leg was bleeding profusely, Aramis responded to Athos’ shout.

His legs threatened to give out on him when he too came to the realization that the infirmary was gone. Leaning against Athos’ shoulder, all Aramis could do was stare at the ruined building. His mind in a fog, he found himself falling to his knees as he began to weep. “Mere de Dieu,” he whispered crossing himself. “D’Artagnan, my poor Gascon."

“Get the ‘ell back up, Mis!” Grabbing the marksman by the shoulders, Porthos plucked him from the ground and began shaking him. “Ya don’t know ‘e’s dead yet!” Letting Aramis go he pitched in to help the others shift cracked, wooden beams, bricks and anything else that got in his way to getting to their youngest. Some of the debris was still hot to the touch. “Merde!” he swore, dropping a beam nearly on top of his foot. Glancing over to his left Porthos saw Athos frantically trying to claw his way through the mess to reach his protégé. Seeing Aramis back on his knees again, Porthos brought up something he hoped his brother would forgive him for. “ _MIS!_ ” he bellowed again. “ _GET OFF YOUR ASS AND ‘ELP US! THIS AIN’T SAVOY!_ ”

Coming to his senses at last Aramis realized Porthos was correct. Their young one had to be still alive and, oui, this definitely wasn’t Savoy. Their boy was a Gascon and just too damn stubborn to die on them this way. Right then he began to work side by side with Athos and Porthos. It wasn't until an exhausted Doctor Devereaux joined them that they were in for another shock which left them all reeling.

"A terrible injustice has been served here this day." Covered from head to toe in soot and grime Devereaux gazed sadly upon what was once his infirmary. "I pray d'Artagnan has survived but prepare yourself for the alternative just in case." Hanging his head down in sorrow he didn’t have the nerve to look the inseparable’s in the face after his words.

"Was d'Art the only one in the infirmary at the time everythin’ went to 'ell and back?" Wiping sweat from his forehead only caused the soot and blood Porthos had collected to smear across his face giving his features a rather grotesque look.

"Non." Shaking his head, Devereaux swallowed hard. "Rene had come to fetch me after Martin's horse fell on him while they were in the courtyard. He suffered a fractured leg. Tis why I wasn't in the infirmary at the time." Pausing, Devereaux wasn't sure how to add this to their list of worries as well but knew it had to be said. "Captain Treville had come to sit with d'Artagnan and was still inside when the Garrison was attacked."

In the process of tossing some bricks away Athos froze upon hearing this. If the captain was lost as well as d'Artagnan he didn't think he'd have the heart to go on. It had been so long since Athos had attended mass and prayed to a God he had hardened his heart against. But today he fervently began to pray to the good Lord for the young man whom he had come to love like a son and the captain who had been like a father to him. They just had to be alive! He wouldn't consider any other option.

++++

_Underneath the rubble of the collapsed infirmary_

"Capt... Captain," d'Artagnan choked out. Oh Mon Dieu! His ribs were killing him, and his head felt like he had lost a sparring match with Porthos. Shrouded in blackness, he tried hard not to panic as his breathing escalated. There wasn’t even a hint of daylight that had been shining through his window mere moments ago. Pain was the only thing d'Artagnan registered, being covered by heavy beams which anchored him in place.

Not being able to move, barely managing to turn his head, he couldn't do a thing. Utterly helpless, d’Artagnan wished he could scream in frustration but his still inflamed lungs wouldn’t allow him even that. Being in this position certainly wasn't going to help the fever that still plagued him nor his pneumonia. Adding up his collection of woes d’Artagnan was scared that the blast had killed his captain. If only Treville would answer him. "Captain... Capt-" he stopped calling when he heard an agonized voice speaking low near d'Artagnan's left side.

"Lad, if you," Treville coughed raggedly, "wanted me to... stay longer," he felt like he was going to choke on his own spit, "you didn't... have to take... such... drastic measures." Trying to laugh had been a bad idea when his ribs gave him the very devil. Not to mention that his head ached terribly. Just the little he had said taxed all his strength. Already he realized his right arm was broken plus it hurt like hell to breathe, which more than likely meant he had a few busted ribs into the bargain. So tired. He was so very tired. Perhaps Treville would just close his eyes for a few moments and the pain would go away.

"Sir... sir." Afraid that the captain had suffered a concussion, d'Artagnan knew the best thing was for him to try and keep the officer awake. It was a miracle that he didn't have one himself. Still d'Artagnan knew he had been unconscious as well. Perhaps his concussion hadn't been that bad. Now with the heavy silence between them, d'Artagnan worried that If Captain Treville didn't keep up a running dialog with him it meant that the older man had probably lost consciousness again.

Beginning to feel worse himself d'Artagnan tried to remember everything Aramis had ever told him about keeping a concussed person awake. Gathering what little strength he had left d'Artagnan said, "Tell me..." choking on some of the soot and ash that hung in the air he took another breath, "tell me what... it was like... for you and my... papa growing... up... in... Gascony?"

++++

_Royal Palace - throne room_

"Give them all the help they need!" King Louis was damned upset. Furious over his Garrison being blown up to smithereens and being surrounded by imbeciles everywhere he turned, King Louis had a most childish urge to jump up and down in a tantrum. Refraining from doing so instead King Louis let his ire fall on the people running around him like chickens with their heads cut off. His Garrison was destroyed. Who could have conceived such a terrible plot? "I want every available man in the palace sent over to the Garrison to lend support immediately!"

"Louis," Anne pulled on her husband's arm, "Cardinal Richelieu does not appear to be as devastated as us over the news. If I didn't know better he even appeared somewhat smug."

"What are you getting at, Anne?" Never liking to hear anything untoward about those closest to him, Louis would turn a deaf ear to the negativity surrounding Richelieu. That didn't mean he was blind to the cardinal's faults. But would His Eminence stoop so very low as to plot to destroy Louis' beloved Musketeers? What to do? What to do? His thoughts in disarray were interrupted when a young page came racing into the room.

"Sire!"

"Oui," King Louis waved the young page to his side. "What is it? I have no time to doddle."

"It was told to us by several of your Musketeers that d'Artagnan and Captain Treville are among the missing? I thought you should be told." Jules wished he didn't have to be the one to bring such dire news to the king. Noting how His Majesty paled, he was afraid the young monarch was going to be ill.

Whirling around to face Cardinal Richelieu, it was then that King Louis noted a sly look crossing the older man's face. Could it possibly be? "Cardinal, I believe you can spare your few remaining Red Guards so they can be of some help to my Musketeers." When Richelieu hesitated to answer him, King Louis snapped. "I don't mean tomorrow, Cardinal! I mean right now!" Mon Dieu! His old fox and his young champion were missing! Treville was like family to him and d'Artagnan, although just past his nineteenth birthday, was close enough in age for them to become fast friends or so he had hoped.

When Anne saw Richelieu's eyes grow wide with surprise at the anger radiating from Louis, she was the one who became overcome with smugness this time. Having never liked nor trusted the cardinal, as her husband did, Anne was pleased anytime someone was actually able to get the better of His Eminence. Turning to Louis she took one of his hands into her own. "If it wouldn't be unseemly I would like to help. We've set up rooms in the palace as you know to treat the injured that have been arriving. I believe the women tending them could use an extra pair of hands."

Kissing her forehead, Louis was proud of her. A strong king needed a strong queen by his side and Anne had more than proven that in the past. "I'm going to go to the Garrison myself and see if I can offer any help too."

"And what about Cardinal Richelieu?" Having not missed the furious look that crossed the cardinal's face at being ordered to lend his Red Guards out, Anne's woman's intuition was working overtime.

Patting her hand gently, Louis was in a quandary. "We'll have to bide our time and see what reveals itself to us. If I discover that the cardinal had any part in this tragedy then his head will be the first to roll."

Watching Louis leave, Anne wondered if now would be the time she should inform him of Richelieu's attempt on her life. If it hadn't been for Captain Treville and the inseparables Anne wouldn't be standing here today. She owed those men her life. It may yet come to light, leaving Anne no choice but to give testimony against His Eminence over his wicked scheme. Walking through the halls filled with the injured, she knew that life was never going to be the same after today.  
++++

_Shortly after - Palais-Cardinal_

Today should have been the day Richelieu dreamed about. Instead he found himself being impaled with a look of such fierceness from Louis it had taken him aback. The young king even sounded like he had grown up in a span of a few minutes. It stuck like craw in his throat to lend out the few Red Guards he had been allowed to keep but, unless he wanted to have an argument with Louis over it, Richelieu had to give in lest it reflected badly upon him.

Cyprien had done his job well. It was to be hoped that the damage wrought would bring down the rest of the regiment. They would simply fall apart at the seams leaving Richelieu able to re-form his Red Guards again. Proving to the king that Louis just couldn't do without them now. Even better if Treville and that brat d'Artagnan had become casualties. Two thorns out of his side... what could be sweeter than that?

++++

_Garrison_

"Athos, we've got to take a break," Aramis pleaded. His eldest brother gave all the appearance of being able to continue digging through the debris until d'Artagnan and Treville were discovered. Most of the men, himself included, had divested themselves of their doublets. The sun's rays upon them had been bad enough, combine that with breathing in air that was thick with soot and ash, bien then Aramis noted more Musketeers would be dropping like flies.

"Go on," Athos growled. "I won't stop until I find them."

"You're not doin' yourself any favors, mon frere." Hefting some large beams over his head, throwing them onto the ground, Porthos could see that Athos looked on the verge of collapse as did Aramis. Stronger than most of the other Musketeers he could go on for some time before tiring out. If Athos wouldn't stop, Porthos knew Aramis wouldn't either.

"Every minute is precious." He wouldn't grieve. He couldn't. Not until Athos held d'Artagnan's lifeless body in his arms, and that of their captain, would he give in to a grief that was threatening to overwhelm him every minute he saw an injured brother or one that had perished. Holding out hope that they were both still alive, Athos summoned up the strength to continue his search. But whatever the outcome then and only then would Athos find out who did this to the regiment. Woe be it to that individual, and whomever plotted with them, for Athos' vengeance would be a terrible thing to witness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To all my writing friends and lovely readers that celebrate the holiday, I wish all of you a Blessed Easter!
> 
> ++++

_Same day, late in the afternoon now – Garrison_

_Underneath the rubble of the collapsed infirmary_

He was weary of coughing, all it did was make his lungs feel like they were on fire, not to mention making his head ache worse than ever. As he listened to his captain reminisce of days gone past, d’Artagnan thought back to that time when he was just a mere petit garcon. Ah, but he had been a holy terror back then. Giving his papa nothing but premature grey hairs. Getting into mischief seemed to be d’Artagnan’s main goal in life which, of course, tested his papa's patience to the extreme. Even his maman didn’t know what to do with him. She used to scold him gently. Telling d’Artagnan that he was a bundle of energy that could be put to better use other than creating chaos wherever he went.

“You…” Treville coughed harshly, “were a right young… hellion, son.” Would the pain ever stop, he wondered. Still so very tired but every time he closed his eyes, wanting to sleep, the lad kept at him for more of Treville’s stories. Stubborn Gascons that they both were he thought to humor the younger man, knowing the true reason behind d’Artagnan’s motives in keeping him awake.

“If you say… so, sir…” d’Artagnan took an uneven breath. His ribs were beginning to give him trouble again. Gathering that they were either badly bruised or broken, he didn’t look forward to another coughing fit. “Tis been a… long time since those… days. Jog my… memory for…me.” After his words, d’Artagnan wasn’t sure he really wanted to be reminded of his youthful escapades after all.

“Ah, my boy,” Treville chuckled, causing another round of coughing. Oh that wasn’t very smart of him. He could have sworn a rib just pierced through his skin. The sharp pain was excruciating but he didn’t want d’Artagnan to concern himself more than the youth already was. “There was… that time you borrowed… Monsieur Plourde’s new horse.” He was getting sleepy again but realized d’Artagnan had the right of it in keeping him talking. “You were only… seven years… of age.”

“I don’t remember it.” Furrowing his brow, d’Artagnan tried to think back to when he was that young. “Why did I borrow... someone elses... horse? We had... several of our own.”

“More than likely it… was because the horse was… new... and not… yours.” At the time, he and Alexandre never did get the truth out of the boy.

“What happened?”

It did… not… end well.” Really wishing he could see the young Gascon’s face at this moment Treville, despite the agony he was in, allowed a small smile to touch his lips. “First… Plourde did not give… you… permission to ride… his horse.”

“I stole it?” That didn’t seem like something d’Artagnan would have ever done and he was surprised at himself if he had.

“In a manner of… speaking,” Treville said. “You borrowed it without...seeking... Plourde out. You did not have… good control… over the animal. By the time Alexandre and… I found… out about it… ah, bien, Plourde’s fence... was torn… down. A hole in the man’s… barn needed to… be fixed and the horse… trough had to be… replaced.”

Good thing the captain couldn’t see his face because d’Artagnan was positive it was crimson by now. He was sure at any other time those memories would resurface of such a transgression on his part, however right now he drew a blank. Wondering if Monsieur Plourde ever forgave him d’Artagnan was about to ask but hesitated upon listening to Captain Treville’s breathing. It had gotten worse.

Still not able to do more than turn his head to one side, d'Artagnan was helpless to give his captain aide of any sort. Trying to twist his body slightly only resulted in a severe stabbing pain radiating from his right side. As if things couldn't get anymore dire for them, d'Artagnan felt that there was more to his own situation than pneumonia and being stuck under a ton of rubble. Something else was terribly wrong with him but, until he could assess the damage, d'Artagnan would just have to wait for rescue to come.

"D'Artagnan...lad..." Treville weakly called. "You still... with... me?" Hearing a quiet snort, he could picture the boy rolling his eyes.

"Was worried that... I... lost you... there for a moment," d'Artagnan huffed. "Ummmm," he licked his dried lips, "Did Monsieur... Plourde ever forgive... me?"

"Oui," Treville coughed long and harder this time. Not doing himself any favors his ribs jabbed him in pain with each draw of breath. "But you... had to work on... his farm for a time to make up... for what you... had done."

"Perhaps I am glad... I do not recollect... that incident." Closing his eyes d'Artagnan only wanted sleep to claim him but knew his job was to keep the captain awake. Trying to think upon what else to talk about it was then that d'Artagnan finally heard other voices speaking. "Captain! Do you hear them?" he shouted in excitement.

"I do, son. But I'm... afraid it's up to you to... make them know... we are here and by God’s grace alive." Eyelids feeling as if heavy weights were pulling at them Treville gave up the fight, drifting off. It was now all up to the boy.

++++

Evening was now upon what was left of the Garrison. It was lit up by several hundred lanterns which had been strategically placed to give the soldiers enough light to work by. Greatly concerned and caring citizens of Paris had pitched in to help in any way possible. One of those ways was to drop off as many lanterns as they could get their hands on. They knew the Musketeers were still trying to recover some of their men and would be working throughout the night. Word had reached the city that two of the missing were Captain Treville and their youngest Musketeer. Both men had earned a special place in the hearts of the Parisians.

After finally badgering Athos to get some rest, likewise did Porthos and Aramis take a breather. All three men were bone tired and filthy into the bargain. They didn't care how many layers of dirt and grime stuck to their skin or clothing nor did any of their brother-in-arms. Doggedly determined to locate d'Artagnan and their captain, they would continue until every ounce of strength left their bodies.

The Musketeers had been divided into groups and had taken shifts so none of the uninjured would collapse from exhaustion during their search. Right now Gaspard, Iean, Absolon, Sylvain and Perrin were feverishly working to move more of the debris keeping everyone from finding their captain and young Gascon.

Knowing others were still among the missing, Athos prayed they would be found alive and brought out of this hell. Thinking upon the fate of his other men, he observed Absolon shifting more wooden beams away. Soon after it was then that all of them heard the unmistakable sound of a beloved voice.

" _WE"RE HERE! ALIVE! IN HERE! WE'RE ALIVE!_ "

Shooting up from a lounging position, Athos momentarily became slightly dizzy. Waiting for the world to right itself, he carefully gained his feet. " _D'ARTAGNAN!_ " His eyes moist from tears he held back, Athos' gaze locked onto Aramis and Porthos. " _THEY LIVE!_ " he cried out joyously, hugging his friends close.

Elbowing Sylvain off to the side, without apology, Athos began tearing at the rubble again. He had long ago dispensed with his leather gloves and now his hands were raw and bleeding. But none of that mattered now. With renewed hope in his heart, he silently thanked God for this miracle. For earlier he had feared this would be the site of d'Artagnan's and Treville's graves.

Signaling the rest of the men to come help them, Porthos began shouting orders left and right to be careful lest they answer to him.

Tears unashamedly poured down Aramis' face. God had answered his prayers. What shape the two men would be in after they finally rescued them, bien, he would assess that when the time came. But it was a good sign that after all this time they were both still alive. Though he was slightly worried that the only voice calling out to them had been d'Artagnan's.

" _OVER HERE!_ " Gaspard bellowed. " _I THINK I FOUND ONE OF THEM!_ "

Nearly tripping over themselves getting to Gaspard the inseparables caught sight of an exposed long, slim, olive-toned hand sticking out between some jagged boards and bricks.

" _IT'S D'ARTAGNAN!_ " Beginning to weep, Athos didn't care that his vulnerability showed. His Gascon was alive! That was all that mattered. When he heard the pounding of feet running toward him Athos whirled around to stare into King Louis' filthy features. In his excitement Athos had nearly forgotten that the young monarch was helping them. Right now King Louis was anxiously looking at him.

"One of the men told me that you found my old fox and d'Artagnan." King Louis knew his appearance was far from regal but he realized this wouldn't be a picnic in the park to begin with. When first coming here to lend aid, he knew everyone was shocked to see him. King Louis cared for his Musketeers deeply and he'd be a poor monarch if he didn't show his loyalty to them. So shedding most of his royal clothes King Louis helped move the wounded to the wagons and lent his strength anywhere it was needed to locate other survivors.

"We heard only d'Artagnan's voice so far, Sire," Athos said. "But the boy yelled that they were _both_ alive."

Swiping at the tears that escaped him King Louis rolled up his sleeves again, joining his men. "I pray their injuries are not severe."

"As do we all, Your Majesty." Seeing the king working side-by-side with them, without complaint, Porthos was filled with a new hope for the future of France. If King Louis was willing to do this for his men, think of the greatness he could be capable of in leading their country.

"When I find out who is responsible for this monstrous crime," King Louis sadly looked around him, "nothing will save them from my punishment."

"We feel the same way, Sire." Astounded at the king's being here with them, Aramis realized he was witnessing the true measure of their young monarch.

Chuckling, King Louis pitched in helping the other soldiers dig out Treville and d'Artagnan. "If you find them first, Aramis, I do not care what condition they are in when you throw them at my feet."

Hearing that they were being given carte blanche in finding the culprits responsible for this travesty, Athos grimly smiled. "Good to know, Your Majesty."

" _GOTCHA!_ " Porthos shouted, when he finally located Captain Treville. Then the others gathered round him to help remove the rest of the debris covering the older man.

" _CAREFUL!_ " Aramis warned everyone. "We don't know what injuries he has sustained!"

Moaning, Treville sluggishly opened his eyes. Staring up at the group of dirty, anxious faces he tried for a smile. "Took you..." his throat was so sore from all the coughing he had done that his voice sounded more like a frog's, "took you all... long enough."

"I say, Captain," King Louis grinned, "is that anyway to greet your Musketeers... and you're king?"

"I'll think upon a... more... suitable reply at a... later... date, Sire." Knowing that he should have been astounded at Louis' presence, Treville hurt too badly to dwell upon it. It was when Damien lightly brushed against his right arm that Treville howled in pain, making Damien stumble and fall to the ground. "My arm... I'm... sure tis broken." As the discomfort receded, Treville watched while Aramis was checking him over. "Before you ask... I'm sure I've broken some... ribs as well."

"Concussion, sir?" Some kind soul had rushed to bring Aramis his medical bag. While rummaging through it, he began to think there wouldn't be enough bandages after noting the numerous cuts and abrasions covering the captain's body. Asking Perrin to retrieve more for him Aramis waited for Treville's response.

"It must have been... bad," Treville admitted. "D'Artagnan's been... trying to keep me... awake. Bless his soul."

"Good boy," Athos nodded, proud of their youngest.

" _GOT HIM TOO, ATHOS!_ "

Sweeter words had never been spoken as those of Gaspard upon finally freeing d'Artagnan. Rushing away from his captain's side Athos nearly jumped on top of the younger Musketeer to get to the Gascon. " _WHERE! WHERE IS HE?_ "

"We need Porthos' strength to help us move this last beam off of him," Gaspard said. So with the larger Musketeer's help they were able to clear away the debris from d'Artagnan's legs.

When he first saw the kid's dirty face, Porthos could have kissed it. But what else he saw chilled his blood. " _ARAMIS!_ "


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank Buckeye01 whom I checked with on a few things related to the latest injury I've given our Gascon for this chapter.
> 
> Also see notes below.
> 
> ++++

_Same day, very late into the evening_

“ _ARAMIS!_ ” Porthos bellowed dropping to his knees beside his wounded younger brother, with Gaspard on the other side of the kid. “Don’t try and move, d’Art.” Brushing as much dirt and debris he could from the whelp, he winced at seeing the cuts that adorned d’Artagnan’s face. The heat Porthos felt when his hand brushed over the lad’s forehead doubled his concerned, as it felt quite high. Even though Athos’ face was covered in grime, Porthos could tell that it had whitened considerably at seeing the grave injury to the boy.

Temporarily turning over Captain Treville’s care to Folquet, Aramis ran over to d’Artagnan and then gasped at the sight of the nearly inch thick piece of jagged wood sticking out from the lad’s right side. “Merde!” he swore quietly, not wanting to upset d’Artagnan further.

“Hi, Aramis,” d’Artagnan tried to laugh but ended up coughing harshly, jarring his ribs again. When an agonizing feeling tore through him, radiating from his lower right side, he didn’t need Aramis to tell him that he’d done it again. “Bad?”

Shaking his head ruefully, trying to keep the concern from his face and voice, Aramis gently patted d’Artagnan’s head. “Only you, lad. Only you.”

“I think Athos may... need medical... attention more than me,” d’Artagnan pointed out. Seeing that his mentor appeared in a state of shock. “Must be horrible... to put that look... on your... face, mon frere.”

Swaying, Athos dropped to the ground beside the boy. Running a shaky hand through d'Artagnan's matted hair, he tried to be strong for his protégé. "You never do anything halfway, child."

Reaching out with his left hand, d'Artagnan gripped Athos' bruised and bleeding one. He figured it resulted from all the digging the older man had done to get him out. "How bad is it?"

"Truth?" Sliding a glance toward Aramis, receiving a nod in return, Athos gazed upon the youngster who held his heart. "You have a piece of wood sticking out of you." Thinking that was blunt enough, Athos was surprised at the lad's response.

"Ah!"

Huffing, Athos ran a hand through his own filthy hair. "Your circumstance requires a tad more than a simple _ah_ I would think."

"Is it a... big piece?" Coughing some more d'Artagnan could feel not only his ribs shifting in protest but felt a forceful jabbing pain from the wood as well, now that he knew what it was. Deciding he didn't need to know the particulars about the wood after all, he tried to distract his thoughts and asked, "What about the captain?" Tired eyes seeking Athos out, d'Artagnan needed reassurance that his efforts to keep Treville awake hadn't been for nought.

"As well... as... can be... expected when having... a building fall on top... of him, lad," Treville drawled from his position close to the boy.

"Good...," d'Artagnan swallowed thickly, "good to hear... you're humor's intact... sir." Listening to the captain's snort of laughter, despite their dire dilemma, lifted a weight from d'Artagnan's shoulders.

"Didn't," Treville abruptly coughed, "didn't know I had... one." His remark appeared to amuse his men, as many surrounding him began to laugh.

Kneeling beside the young Gascon, Porthos shared a quick worried look with Athos and Aramis. "Kid, ya gotta promise me ta hang in there. I'd hate ta 'ave ta break in another newbie."

Noting d'Artagnan struggle to laugh, aggravating his protégé's condition further, Athos hit Porthos up the back side of the other man's head.

"Ow!" Rubbing at the tender area, Porthos scowled at his brother. Hearing the whelp struggling for breath, he realized what he had caused. He felt worse than ever now. Laying a large hand flat on the kid's chest he urged, "Try n' breathe slow, d'Art. Nice and easy like." Sitting on his haunches, Porthos' eyes fell again on the jagged wood piercing the whelp. "I swear ya must 'ave done somethin' terrible in another life ta 'ave all this bad luck followin' ya around."

When d'Artagnan's breaths evened out, he glanced upward at Porthos who hovered over him. Patting the gentle giant on the arm, he tried to reassure him. "I'm still here despite... everything. Bad luck or... not."

"I didn't 'elp matters, kid." A lopsided smile was all Porthos could offer their youngest. "Sorry ta make ya laugh."

"Can..." d'Artagnan's breath caught again from the sharp pains jabbing at him. "Can make it... up to me... next time... at the Wren."

Ruffling the whelp's hair, Porthos then heard Aramis barking out orders for both Captain Treville and d'Artagnan to be transported back to the palace.

Making sure the captain had been settled in the wagon as comfortably as possible, Aramis then supervised the other soldiers for d'Artagnan. "Men, we're going to have to be extremely careful when you pick the lad up. I don't want his side jarred if it can be helped." Directing Nihel and Maurice to grab hold of the boy's legs, Aramis then had Porthos and Athos take up position on either side of d'Artagnan's shoulders. Together they put the youth in the wagon alongside their captain.

Leaning over the wagon, wearing a rather tired grin on his face, King Louis took in the two injured men that he cared very much for. "This will not go unanswered," he vowed to them. "Now you are both being taken to the Louvre where Doctor Devereaux has set up surgery. My own personal physician Doctor Bedeau is there as well along with several local ones from within our city that graciously volunteered their services," he tenderly wiped some dirt from his old fox's face. "But I will be staying here for a time with the rest of my men." Giving them both a sad smile he added, "Tis where I belong."

From there Porthos took up the reins, guiding the team of horses on the road that would take them a short distance to the palace. Meanwhile Aramis tended to the two wounded men in the back of the wagon. Sitting up front, beside Porthos, was Athos. Stoic as ever. Like having your Garrison blown up was an everyday occurrence. "The doc will fix 'em both up, Athos." Not getting a response, his eyes slid toward his eldest brother once again. "We'll get the batards responsible and then," Porthos growled, "then they'll 'ave ta deal with us."

"I forgot to ask after King Louis." Taking the reins from Porthos, Athos tried to stop the team. Only to have them taken back out of his hands.

"We gotta get 'em ta the palace," Porthos snapped. "Sides His Majesty told us he was gonna stay and keep helpin'." Realizing then that Athos hadn't paid any attention to the young monarch's words to Treville or their whelp, his voice gentled. "Anyways the king will be surrounded by Musketeers so I'd say 'e was well protected." He supposed the grunt of response from Athos was better than nothing, while he coaxed the horses to a faster pace.

++++

_Royal Palace_

Once they arrived at the Louvre, there were many able hands eager to help transfer Captain Treville and d'Artagnan inside the palace.

Used to the Louvre's oppulance there was none of that to be seen this night. Seeing nothing resembling the palace anywhere they looked, the inseparables walked into the throne room feeling like they stepped into another war zone. The many injured were scattered throughout in makeshift beds. Later they found out that other rooms also held many of the wounded.

Noting Queen Anne and Constance helping aid the doctors, Aramis immediately went over to them. "We have brought Captain Treville and d'Artagnan. Where may we take them?"

"It depends on what type of injuries they have." Looking at how weary the marksman appeared, as were Porthos and Athos, Constance shared a concerned look with Anne. "The doctors placed the most severely wounded in other rooms."

"What of the throne room here?" To Aramis' eyes, it seemed this area already held seriously injured men.

"For the wounded that don't require surgery." Looking past the inseparable's to see other Musketeers carrying d'Artagnan and Captain Treville inside, Queen Anne's eyes widened in horror.

"What of d'Artagnan?" Grabbing Anne's hand, Constance squeezed it tightly noting the object sticking out of her best friend's side.

"Surgery," Athos gruffly announced. "I do not think there is any time to waste either."

"Follow me." She lead Athos and Porthos, plus two other Musketeers whose names for the life of her Constance couldn't remember, down a long hallway. Suddenly finding herself drawing a blank as to everything else except her thoughts for d'Artagnan, Constance held back her tears.

As the group left, Queen Anne turned to Aramis. "What of Louis?"

"Pitching in like a real trooper," he smiled. "It was just the tonic all our men needed to see and was well appreciated. His Majesty was getting just as filthy as the rest of us and it bolstered many a spirit."

"My husband's growing up finally." She was pleased that Louis' eyes were beginning to be truly opened. Perhaps he'll soon discover what a treacherous person Richelieu was and no friend to Louis, herself or France. After the birth of their son it seemed that Louis was trying harder to be a better leader to his subjects and a more affectionate mate toward herself.

Having seen for himself that the young royals were drawing ever closer after the Dauphin's birth, Aramis prayed that together they'd both be able to lead France to glory. Even if that meant butting heads with the cardinal. Which Aramis knew was a foregone conclusion. "I must go to d'Artagnan now and confer with Doctor Devereaux on the lad's surgery."

"Oui go, Aramis," she urged. "I'll pray our youngest Musketeer pulls through." Noting that at her words Aramis kissed the crucifix he always wore, Queen Anne silently asked God to spare the Gascon's life.

++++

"Tis not quite a foot long." Scowling at the piece of wood protruding from the boy's right side, Devereaux swore quietly. It would be a tricky operation no matter what. But two things were a major concern for him. One was the loss of blood once the offending object was removed. The other was that it may have done internal damage to d'Artagnan's kidney or liver or both. It depended on how deep the wood had punctured the Gascon.

"How will you proceed?" Having studied the doctor's face, Athos felt dread fill him.

"I need to speak with Aramis first." Knowing Athos wouldn't understand why that was, he explained. "Aramis and I have talked in regards to the uses of different herbs which could aid us during surgeries including those out in the field."

"How so?" This sounded promising and Athos wanted to know how this would work.

"Depending on what is used the herb will render the patient unconscious," Devereaux said. "It's deuce better than drowning someone in alcohol until they pass out."

"Yeah," Porthos snorted. "Unlike others that would knock someone senseless with a punch ta the face." Glowering at Athos he recalled what the man had done to him during the Bonnaire fiasco. Seeing that the doctor appeared mildly confused at his statement, Porthos laughed. "Ya 'ad ta be there."

"I'm sure." Lips twitching, Devereaux walked away shaking his head at the ingenious ways the Musketeers came up with to solve problems.

Seeing Aramis step inside the room, Porthos pulled him aside. "The doc needs ta talk ta ya."

"I figured as much." Walking over to where d'Artagnan laid, Aramis noted Athos was right there beside the boy. "Athos, go with Porthos and get cleaned up. You'll both feel worlds better for it."

"I ain't leavin' the kid now that 'e needs us more than ever." Planting his feet firmly beside Athos, Porthos dared anyone to try and move him.

"I'm of the same mind, mon ami." Rubbing his thumb across the youngster's brow, Athos noted d'Artagnan's breathing eased up. Sending Aramis a smug look it faltered slightly upon gazing at Devereaux's stern features.

"D'Artagnan's surgery is going to prove hard enough," Devereaux needlessly pointed out. "I don't want any distractions. So both of you will do as Aramis suggested while we proceed." His words didn't go over well with the two Musketeers but at last they saw reason and reluctantly left the room. Turning to the marksman he asked, "Remember when we discussed using valerian root because of its tranquilizing, sedative and antiseptic properties?"

"Oui, we used it for the first time on Barnabe when he was injured." If the doctor was going to use that particular herb then Aramis felt hopeful that d'Artagnan wouldn't feel a thing during surgery. "It worked well then I believe."

"I've nearly bought out the local apothecary for the root to prepare the amount of tea needed to make for our injured soldiers." Running a hand down the back of his neck, Devereaux already felt weary and there was still more work that lay ahead for him. "I also purchased hopefully enough quantities of poppy seeds to help relieve the agony of their wounds as well."

"Do you have enough skullcap and hops too?" If d'Artagnan's surgery goes well than Aramis could further be of use to the doctor.

Smiling his approval, Devereaux slapped Aramis on the back. "Oui, I do. Later you can mix those with the valerian root into a tea or tincture for mild sedative use."

"I'll go prepare the valerian tea for d'Artagnan now." About to leave for the kitchen, Devereaux's hand on Aramis' arm prevented him from doing so.

"Tis already done." Devereaux pointed to a table full of his medical equipment. "The kitchen staff has been given careful instructions on its preparation and there's more being made as we speak."

"To use on others." Aramis realized d'Artagnan would be the first but not the last. "Then let me quickly wash away the grime from my arms and hands so we can begin."

++++

_Notes_

Anesthesia didn't exist until the 19th century. Hence the use of herbs was quite common and still is to this day.

Valerian has been used for centuries as an herbal remedy. It contains tranquilizing and sedative properties. It's been used to treat sleeping disorders, insomnia, restlessness, anxiety, nervous tension, hysteria, excitability, stress and intestinal colic or cramps.

Poppy seeds contain small quantities of both morphine and codeine, which are pain-relieving drugs that are still used today.

Skullcap is a comforting herb, traditionally used to alleviate nervous tension and exhaustion. It is used to promote emotional wellbeing and relaxation during times of distress.

Hops are also used in herbal medicine in a way similar to Valerian, as a treatment for anxiety, restlessness, and insomnia.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See note at bottom.
> 
> ++++

_Royal Palace - same time and place_

When Aramis rejoined Doctor Devereaux he came upon the physician staring at d'Artagnan, lost in thought. "Did something else happen to the lad while I was momentarily away?"

"Non," Devereaux shook his head. "I'm second guessing myself tis all."

"May I ask why that is?" What could have happened in the short time Aramis had been gone?

"I've been listening to the boy's labored breathing," Devereaux offered. "I should have taken into consideration that d'Artagnan's lungs are still inflamed from the young man's pneumonia." Hand brushing lightly over the Gascon's forehead he grimaced. "Lest us not forget his fever hasn't left him yet either."

"So what you are _not_ saying is that we won't be doing the pup any favors by operating on him." Worried more than ever now, Aramis' grip tightened on the crucifix he wore. "We have no choice though. That wood has to come out."

"No choice," Devereaux repeated with a firm nod of agreement. "I know that, Aramis. Tis just I'd feel a whole lot better about d'Artagnan's chances if the pneumonia had improved."

"The pup works better under pressure anyway," Aramis snorted. "The lad will do all right. You'll see."

"From your mouth to God's ears." Glancing at his equipment Devereaux added, "Now do you want to give d'Artagnan the tea or shall I?"

"I'll give it to him now." Swiftly moving over to a table that held the steaming brew, Aramis poured a generous amount into a mug. He knew exactly how much tea the lad should drink to safely render the Gascon unconscious.

When Aramis came back over, Devereaux helped d'Artagnan to sit up. Holding the youngster in that position, he waited as the marksman held the mug of valerian tea to the boy's lips. Noting the face d'Artagnan pulled at the taste, a huff of amusement escaped Devereaux. "I know what you're thinking, d'Artagnan," he winked at the lad. "Another terrible concoction, eh?"

"I've... had... worse. Believe me." Trying for a smile d'Artagnan weakly leaned against the physician. "Can we... get this over... with?"

"As soon as you go to sleep, mon frere." Looking at their youngest fondly, Aramis watched d'Artagnan's eyelids begin to flutter shut. "Do not fight its effects, mon ami."

"Aramis." Reaching out to grab his brother's hand d'Artagnan squeezed it tightly. "If I do... not... survive..." A gentle finger to his lips stopped further words.

"Uh uh." Tapping one of his long fingers lightly upon the boy's mouth, Aramis frowned. "Do not ever talk like that, d'Artagnan. You are a Musketeer after all."

"Does... that mean... we... cannot... die?" Slowly losing the battle to stay awake, d'Artagnan barely heard his friend's response.

"It simply means you won't die _this_ day, mon frere. Your _time_ is far, far away." Placing a kiss on the pup's hot forehead Aramis then turned to Devereaux. "I believe we can proceed now."

++++

_Back to the Throne Room_

"Honestly you two!" Grabbing the bandages and clean linens from the hands of both Porthos and Athos, Constance was disappointed in them. "I thought you'd be of more help."

Bewildered, the men first looked at one another and then back at the titian haired young woman. Neither of them understood why she was upset with them.

It didn't take a genius to figure out the men were confused at her attitude. "I asked you to do this more than twenty minutes ago," she stamped one foot in anger. "What took so long? The queen was ready to send a search party out."

Beyond embarrassed, Porthos reluctantly admitted what had happened. "Er... we couldn't find it."

"Never had to locate the linen closet in the palace before," Athos offered with a wince at her sour expression. When Constance walked away muttering about _how could they have gotten lost?_ , Athos refrained from rolling his eyes for fear that she'd catch him at it.

"She ain't gonna forgive us anytime soon." Knowing a quick temper goes with red hair, Porthos was going to do his best to stay out of Constance's way.

"Being Treville's second-in-command part of my job is to know the palace inside and out." Following Queen Anne's movements, as she and Constance helped patch up their wounded brothers, Athos' lips tightened. "I may have been remiss in learning some of the smaller areas."

"Ya think?" With a sad shake of his head, Porthos had other things on his mind at the moment. "I sure hope d'Art's surgery goes without a hitch since we ain't allowed ta show our faces in there." Still not pleased with the doc's order, Porthos had to keep himself in check to not go against Devereaux's wishes.

"The child's in the best of hands, mon ami. Tis all we could ask for." When Her Majesty waved them over to help with more of the injured, Athos instantly obeyed with Porthos right at his shoulder.

++++

_D'Artagnan's surgery_

Blood stained the floor. Not as much as one would have expected. But what there was of it spurted out quite freely immediately after Devereaux carefully extracted the jagged piece of wood from d'Artagnan's flesh. Louis would have to re-tile the floor was the odd stray thought crossing his mind at the time.

He was pleased to see that the wood hadn't penetrated too deeply, thus missing any vital organs. The boy's guardian angels must have been working overtime protecting the young Gascon. Throwing the wood aside Devereaux heard it clatter to the floor, then he kicked it out of his way. He concentrated on slowing down the flow of blood, very glad for the quiet presence of Aramis working by his side.

Together they cleaned out the injury. Removing dirt, and any other debris, that remained inside. They had to make sure to do a thorough job of it or the risk of infection could set in. Though Devereaux knew no matter how careful he was during surgery, infection was always a possibility. So he would have to monitor d'Artagnan's condition carefully once he was finished.

"Aramis, your stitches are as flawless as your marksmanship." Throwing the Musketeer a slight smile, Devereaux stepped aside. "Would you care to take over?"

Dipping his head in thanks, Aramis held out his hand to receive the threaded needle from the doctor. "When I am done," he grinned, "d'Artagnan later won't have any reason to complain of a leftover scar."

Amused despite the seriousness of their situation, Devereaux observed Aramis' steady hands at work. The man should have been a physician. "You've missed your calling."

Not taking his eyes off of what he was doing, Aramis hummed softly. "My _calling_ is exactly where I am and _what_ I am."

"I would have been disappointed if you had given me any other answer than that, mon ami." Noting that Aramis was nearly done, Devereaux checked on d'Artagnan's breathing which surprisingly didn't sound labored any longer. "I believe the tea helped the boy's lungs too."

"Our youngest needed a break." Finishing up Aramis rubbed the ache in his back. "Mon Dieu! This has been a dreadfully long day. Eyeing with distaste his blood stained shirt and leather pants, he noted the doctor hadn't fared any better. "If we go out there looking like this," Aramis fingered his shirt, pulling it away from his skin, "I fear we'll give Athos and Porthos heart failure."

"What's a bit of blood to a Musketeer, eh?" Slapping Aramis on the back Devereaux was pleased with the job they had done, even when the marksman rolled his eyes at him. "Come. I believe Vincent can watch over our Gascon while we seek out your brothers."

_Throne Room again_

"Ah, there they are." Walking over to where his comrades were helping several of their injured soldiers, Aramis came up behind them. Throwing his arms around each of Porthos' and Athos' shoulders, he felt the two men stiffen in surprise until they turned their heads to encounter Aramis' happy expression.

"Mis!"

"Aramis!"

Hearing an unasked question in their voices, Aramis hugged them both to his side. "Our pup's surgery went well, mes freres." Releasing them, he kissed his crucifix. "Luck once again worked in d'Artagnan's favor as the wood didn't go in too deeply, missing his major organs."

"Best news I've 'eard since this whole nightmare began." Porthos gruffly remarked.

Dubiously taking in the remains of fresh blood on both Aramis' and the doctor's clothing Athos tilted his head to the side, arching both brows in question.

"Tis not as bad as it appears, Athos." Correctly interpreting his eldest brother's look Aramis glanced at Devereaux, the latter was trying unsuccessfully to wipe some of the blood off his own clothes.

"I'll take your word for it." His tone dry, Athos was at least relieved his protégés surgery was finally over.

"The lad's job now is to heal." Noting Athos' eyes shifted toward the marksman, Devereaux realized that even though he was the physician in charge the lieutenant had more faith in Aramis' thoughts. He wasn't upset, au contraire, knowing how these men lived and what they went through together it was only right that Athos would trust Aramis' judgment as well.

"Doctor Devereaux will be keeping tabs on our young Gascon for signs of any infection but I'm confident we thoroughly cleaned out the lad's wound." Hearing Athos let out a long breath, Aramis bumped his shoulder against the other man's. "He's strong, remember that."

"Yup! Kid may look scrawny but 'e's stubborn as they come." Winking at the doc, and his two friends, Porthos saw Constance from across the room and quickly ducked behind Athos.

Thinking that rather an odd action for Porthos to make Aramis asked, "How goes it out here?" Following his brother's gazes toward where Constance was currently bandaging a Musketeer's arm, Aramis was slightly puzzled. Noting her glaring daggers at Porthos and Athos, he rubbed the back of his neck. "May I ask what both of you have done to earn her ire this time?"

Exchanging chagrined looks, Athos and Porthos couldn't meet Aramis' curious eyes for very long.

"Got lost," Porthos muttered, hanging his head down in shame.

"Have you ever tried to find a linen closet in a palace this size?" Not waiting for the marksman's response Athos added, "Two words - _needle_... _haystack_."

Staring at them, Aramis' lips twitched as did the doctor's. There was an interesting story here. One he would get them to share at a later date. For now Aramis needed a break. He would have preferred a drink but that would have to wait for later. After that he would check on d'Artagnan again and then tend to the many other wounded.

++++

_Note:_

I have no idea if valierian tea is bitter or not. Just thought I'd throw that in since d'Artagnan's always complaining about Aramis giving him foul tasting medicine to make him feel better.

Also... a virtual prize to anyone recognizing a small piece of dialog from one of season's three episodes. Hee hee!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys,  
> I'm disappointed no one took up the challenge to guess what the short phrase was that I took from Season 3 in the last chapter.  
> It was from the Queen's Diamonds when the inseparables left to hunt the unknown robber down.  
> It was d'Artagnan's line. *Two words - needle... haystack*.  
> This time I improvised having Athos say that line when they couldn't locate the linen closet. LOL!  
> Oh well, no virtual prize this time around I guess.
> 
> See notes at bottom
> 
> ++++

_Past midnight - Royal Palace_

"D'Artagnan's resting comfortably." Leaning back in a chair with his legs stretched out in front of him, a huge yawn escaped Aramis. He was bone weary, not only from tending to d'Artagnan with Doctor Devereaux, but aiding his injured fellow Musketeers as well.

Sitting around a table, near Aramis, were Porthos and Athos. Both men were just as worn out. Head buried in his arms resting on the table Athos was already half asleep, likewise Porthos who mirrored Aramis' example.

"Our pup should stay asleep til morn." On the cusp of sleep himself, with eyes already closed, Aramis was about to nod off when someone rudely interrupted his time with Morpheus.

"I thought you would all like to know..." Constance mouth snapped shut when she realized how her abrupt intrusion had startled the three sleeping men. Noting how Aramis jerked his head up in what appeared to her a very hurtful manner, Constance felt badly. Watching Athos nearly fall out of his chair, glowering at her, made Constance want to run out the way she came in. Her feelings didn't improve at all when Porthos sent her a look that would have made any sane person, male or female, fear for their life.

"Apologies, gentlemen." Walking cautiously into the room Constance wrung her hands together when a bout of nerves took control. "I thought all of you would be interested to know that Captain Treville's injuries have been seen to and Doctor Bedeau will be keeping an eye on him since the captain sustained a severe concussion."

"That's a relief." Smiling sleepily, Aramis was pleased knowing the captain was out of danger for the most part. Concussions were a way of life for soldiers, which he knew about firsthand. Fortunately Treville always joked that being a captain required him to have a very hard skull. "I was too busy treating one soldier after another to inquire after his condition nor any of our other injured brothers." Noting the young woman's lips open and close without uttering a sound, Aramis' gut clenched. The news wouldn't be pretty he feared.

Swallowing hard Constance started by telling them the number of casualties so far. "The dead number over fifteen and the Musketeers that weren't hurt from the explosion keep bringing more wounded men to us. So many I've lost count."

"That means there's still a chance of recoverin' more dead bodies." Hanging his head down, Porthos felt the losses keenly.

Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, Aramis reached for his cross. "May God have mercy on their souls." Listening to this sad news, he shook the last vestiges of sleep off. Alas, Morpheus would have to wait a little while longer.

"I sure 'n' 'ell won't 'ave mercy on the batards that did this to us!" growled Porthos, wanting a piece of the scum that attacked them.

"Has His Majesty returned?" Feeling sorrow for the loss of the fifteen men, Athos worried there would be even more coming back to the palace, like Porthos just said, but he prayed for a better outcome. 

"Oui." Managing a small smile, her eyes began to twinkle. "The queen and I nearly didn't recognize him when King Louis announced he was back."

"When we left the king," Athos' lips curled upward at the recent memory, "he was just as filthy dirty as the rest of us. Somewhere along the way His Majesty had also lost his wig." Noting his two friends nod their heads in agreement, Athos continued. "It helped the regiment to know  Louis was there for them when it counted." It was nice to see that their young monarch had grown a backbone. Better late than never, Athos thought. Louis would need one in the coming days to help locate the ones responsible for this tragedy.

Another interruption came when the door opened to admit Queen Anne. When they all went to stand up at her presence, Her Majesty waved them to sit back down. "Beds have been prepared for your comfort and I _insist_ that you all avail yourselves of them." Her gaze flicked from one inseparable to the other. The tired lines around their eyes told a story all their own.

"You are as kind and gracious as you are beautiful, Your Majesty." Sweeping his chapeau from his head, Aramis elegantly bowed.

"I hardly feel beautiful at the moment." Knowing she must look as disheveled as Constance, Queen Anne wiped her hands down her bloodied dress. "The king will speak with all of you on the morrow. Needless to say his spirits are quite low," tears began to fill her blue eyes. "This unspeakable act will be avenged." Turning away, she took Constance by the arm as both exhausted women stumbled out through the door.

Realizing that the women were in no better shape than themselves, Athos hastily acted. Going up behind them, he took hold of each of their arms. "I believe that _rest_ is also on order for you both." Holding up a finger before either one of the ladies gave him an argument, Athos walked them over to where several maids were diligently working. Never releasing his reluctant captives, Athos exchanged a few quiet words with the staff. Then turning around he told Constance and the queen what he had arranged. "Now, you will kindly follow Regine and Sacha to your own rooms as well."

"But who will take care of the wounded?" Constance complained, not bothered one whit at the roll of eyes Athos gave her.

In a tone of voice that would have done his aristocratic ancestors proud, Athos politely retorted. "Do not think to question me on this, Constance." His one eyebrow arched so high it nearly touched his hairline. "Queen Anne and yourself are ready to drop. _Aht!_ " Holding up the same finger again, Athos frowned. "If Captain Treville were standing here he would demand the same thing."

"Do not worry, petite soeur, there's more than enough physicians and staff on the premises to take care of them." Tottering on his feet, Aramis felt Porthos' firm grip on his arm keeping him from keeling over in an ungainly heap.

"Eh," Porthos tilted his head, "don't forget the rest of our men that aren't hurt 'ave been 'elpin' out where they can."

"All right," Queen Anne agreed. "I admit defeat and we'll retire without further fuss."

"I guess I could close my eyes for an hour or two," Constance tiredly admitted.

"It will be for more than an _hour or two_ ," Athos emphasized to her. "Or I'll know the reason why."

Wanting to leave before Constance' temper got the better of her, because Queen Anne knew that sometimes the young woman hated being told what to do, she gently reached out to take the younger woman's arm again. "Let us _all_ go to our collective rooms now."

Both women could have simply been paying lip service to Athos so, not taking any chances, he personally accompanied them until they slipped inside the chambers that were made ready. Satisfied, Athos went to seek his own bed.

++++

_Next day, early morning - d'Artagnan's room_

Clean of the dirt and grime from the night before, feeling refreshed, the inseparables paused in front of their youngest's room. They could hear furious words being exchanged from inside and bewildered they stared at each other. Cautiously opening the door they could see d'Artagnan gesticulating with his arms. It was obvious to them that the boy's range of motion was inhibited by his injuries, so it appeared no more than the flapping of a tiny bird's wings to their concerned eyes. Something was definitely wrong, and judging by the Gascon's pout d'Artagnan was not winning any points with Doctor Devereaux.

At the inseparable's appearance, it was then that both the doctor's and d'Artagnan's mouths clamped shut.

"Apologies for interrupting what sounded like a most interesting conversation." Stepping up to his protégé's bedside, Athos smiled down into the boy's angry eyes. "Child, what has you riled so?" Noting the flushed face, he feared at first that the young Gascon's fever had risen as a result of the surgery. Instead, Athos realized it stemmed from the lad's temper.

" _He_ ," d'Artagnan stabbed a finger in the air pointing directly at Devereaux, "told me I won't be able to resume duties for at least a month!"

"Mmmmm," Aramis hummed, glancing at the physician with curious eyes. "I assumed it would have been longer than that."

"Que diable!" d'Artagnan croaked. "Are you on _his_ side too?"

"Tis not a matter of sides, pup." Aramis sat down at the foot of the Gascon's bed. "Tis a matter of your health."

"Yeah, kid." Gently laying a hand on top of the whelp's head Porthos ran his fingers soothingly through d'Artagnan's long hair. "If'n ya 'aven't noticed we're a might attached ta ya now."

Dragging over a chair, Athos sat down beside his protégé. Looking up at the doctor he said, "Doctor Devereaux, I assumed that even after a month's time that d'Artagnan would only be allowed light duties if that. Am I correct?"

"If the young hot head had let me finish," Devereaux' irritation was high toward his patient, "tis what I was going to say."

Noting the physician's ire and the steam building up again in the boy, Athos placed a hand lightly on top of d'Artagnan's chest. He was careful not to disturb any of the bandages covering the lad's ribs or surgical wound. "You were that," Athos snapped his fingers, "close to dying. If the possibility of death doesn't make you sit up and take notice," Athos huffed, "understand this." Leaning over he whispered into the stubborn Gascon's ear. "It would be the end of Aramis, Porthos and myself if we were ever to lose you, child. You have attached yourself most firmly in our hearts."

From his vantage, Aramis heard what his brother had told their young one as did Porthos whose fingers still ran through d'Artagnan's hair. "It would have felt as if a limb had been severed from each of us." Having helped to save the pup's life, Aramis felt he had a better say in the matter than any of his friends. "So do not be in a hurry to undo our efforts to save you."

"Sides," Porthos gruffly laughed, "you're the only one who could put up with us and our shenanigans." Seeing twin frowns marring Athos' and Aramis' faces, Porthos was confused as to what had annoyed his brothers.

"I am pleased to know I would be missed." Receiving an unexpected, but not unwelcome hug from his mentor, d'Artagnan allowed his own emotions to overcome him. Laying his head on Athos' shoulder, he relaxed into the older man's embrace. "I love all of you just as much."

" _Love_?" Porthos chuckled, with an odd look at Aramis and Athos. "Did we say anythin' about _love_?" Seeing the smile his teasing brought to the whelp's face, Porthos exchanged a smug grin with Aramis.

"Now no more funny business giving the good doctor a hard time." Ah! There was that Gascon fire d'Artagnan was known for coming back to life. Athos could see it kindle in the lad's brown eyes. "You will do as he and Aramis tell you to do."

"By the way, Doctor Devereaux," he had noticed lines of pain around d'Artagnan's mouth and it had caused Aramis grave concern, "have you given him any of the poppy seeds yet?"

"D'Artagnan's only been awake a short time," Devereaux replied. "I was going to give the seeds to him in about an hour from now. They should also aid in helping with the boy's cough especially now that the valerian tea has worn off."

"We do not want d'Artagnan to become dependent on the poppy seeds though," Athos wisely pointed out with obvious worry lacing his voice.

Listening to the lad's put upon sigh, Devereaux held back from addressing the Gascon directly. He felt enough had been said to the young man already over the state of his health. "Tis why I'll be keeping tabs on his condition."

"Merde!" Disgusted, d'Artagnan didn't care who knew it. 

With a jerk of his head, Porthos indicated that he wanted a quiet word or two with Aramis and Athos. "There's somethin' else buggin' 'im. Either of ya know what it is?" Getting blank stares in return, Porthos didn't need it spelled out for him that neither of his brothers knew why the whelp was acting the way he was.

"D'Artagnan," Athos sat back down again, "what is troubling you?"

"I can't help any of you hunt for the ones that did this to us!" Thumping his fist on the side of his bed, d'Artagnan's frustration had no other outlet.

"Young chevalier," Athos' blue eyes were filled with nothing but gentleness as they fell on his protégé, "I believe you would charge out of the palace all alone in search of those batards if you could."

"But until you heal," Aramis tugged on the pup's uncovered foot, "know that we will not fail in our endeavor to capture them."

"For ya, d'Art," Porthos said, "and all our wounded and lost brothers."

Humbled by their words, d'Artagnan realized he hadn't asked after the captain. "What of Captain Treville's injuries?" A bit embarrassed for not asking sooner, he couldn't look his friends in the eye. "I should have found that out before concerning myself with my long convalescence."

"His right arm's been set. The captain was lucky in that regard as it was a clean break." Noting the youngster relax at his news Aramis added, "His ribs have been bandaged and we're dealing with his concussion symptoms as they arise."

"In other words you're continually wakin' 'im up." Throwing an evil grin at the whelp, Porthos winked. "We all know 'ow that goes."

"What of our Garrison? How many men did we lose? And the king?" He would have rattled on but the look Athos gave d'Artagnan made his remaining words stick in his throat.

"Relax, d'Artagnan," Athos chucked the boy under the chin, "we will tell you all that we know so far."

"Which ain't much," Porthos offered with a grim look at everyone.

"King Louis is to speak with us some time today," Aramis remarked with a casual shrug of his shoulders. "Since he stayed behind to help our men His Majesty may shed more light on the matter."

"Would one of you come back to let me know what he tells you?" Hating to be left out of things, d'Artagnan's concern was that his brothers may leave certain details out simply not to worry him.

"As if we could ever forget you." Flashing the young Gascon a smile, Aramis figured it was time that he and his friends spoke with King Louis sooner rather than later.

Pulling his chapeau low over his eyes Athos placed a comforting hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder, squeezing gently. "We shall return." Standing now he walked over to the door.

With a wink at the kid, Porthos followed after his leader.

"Au revoir, mon petit frere." Leaving the youngster to the tender mercies of Devereaux, Aramis followed the others.

++++

_Notes:_

_Batards_ \- bastards  
_Petite soeur_ \- little sister  
_Que diable_ \- what the devil  
_Merde_ \- basically means shit (but I'm pretty sure all of you know that by now)  
_Chevalier_ \- white knight  
_Au revoir, mon petit frere_ \- goodbye, my little brother (also something everyone should be familiar with too).


	7. Chapter 7

_Same day, a little later in the morning – King Louis’ chambers_

After having a proper rest, King Louis had agreed to a private audience with the inseparables. Thinking on all he had seen and been through yesterday, plus the losses of so many of his Musketeers, King Louis slumped in a chair at his desk.

It was to this sight the inseparables were greeted too when they walked in. They had never seen His Majesty so beaten down… so lost. Then again the king had just suffered the loss of his beloved Garrison, along with a tragic number of loyal Musketeers into the bargain.

“Sire.” Clearing his throat quietly so that the king knew they were there, Athos crushed the brim of his chapeau in both hands.

As if a great weight were on it, King Louis slowly lifted his head up to settle bleak eyes upon his finest soldiers. “I believe there has never been a worse day in my entire life until yesterday.” Gaining his feet he approached the men. “Here I imagined that the death of my father had been catastrophic.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I sadly stand corrected.”

Gazing at the lieutenant King Louis clapped the man’s shoulder. “Athos, I know you’re in full charge of the regiment while Treville is incapacitated. Your leadership has always proved invaluable and I will depend upon it more than ever during this dreadful time.” Beginning to nervously pace in front of the silent Musketeers King Louis stopped abruptly, exhaled a long breath, then turned to face them again. “Whatever it takes help me find out how this happened and who was behind it,” his lips tightened into a thin line. “That will be your main priority.”

“You know we will do everything within our power, Your Majesty,” Athos replied quickly. Knowing, with utter confidence, that he and his brothers would bring down those who dared attacked them.

“If I may ask, Sire.” Dipping his head slightly, Aramis looked directly at the young monarch. “Last eve we asked and were informed that at least fifteen of our brothers had lost their lives.” His voice held nothing but sorrow for his deceased brethren. “You were still involved in rescue operations at the Garrison at the time.” Hesitating, afraid of the king’s response Aramis went ahead with his question. “Did we suffer further losses?”

“We discovered three more of my brave soldiers but they were beyond saving.” His voice grim, King Louis wouldn’t ever forget sifting through the debris and stumbling upon the dead body of one of his men. The poor soul must have been quite close to one of the explosions for the soldier had been missing part of his left arm. He also had a gaping hole in his chest. The body was so blackened that King Louis couldn’t recognize the man’s features. All he could do was offer up silent prayers to God in hopes that the fallen Musketeer was at peace now. The sight had turned his stomach sour to the point where he had bent over double to throw up the little sustenance he had eaten earlier.

When listening to the king’s words, Porthos exchanged a forlorn look with his friends. Nudging Aramis in the side, he offered him his silent support. This was worse than Savoy ever had been for Aramis and Porthos knew the marksman’s mind would go back to that horrible day again and again. “Remember, Mis… not Savoy,” he whispered. If he had to keep repeating it Porthos would if it kept Aramis grounded in the here and now.

Satisfied with a nod of Aramis’ head that he had heard him, Porthos made a mental note to stay close to his friend during the rough days ahead. It had been bad enough back at the Garrison when Aramis thought d’Artagnan had been killed. Neither he nor Athos needed Aramis to revert back to the near catatonic state his brother had been in after the loss of those twenty Musketeers.

It would take a long time to recover from this but Athos vowed that the regiment would rally forth and eventually be what it once was. What ate at him was the fact that, no matter where he turned now, all Athos saw were Red Guards all over the place. It was getting so that _red_ was now his least favorite color.

This tragedy took a favorable turn for Cardinal Richelieu it would seem, because of the shortage of Musketeers available. It enabled His Eminence to reach out to his former guards that had been dismissed and easily reinstate them with King Louis’ blessing. It made Athos sick at heart. Noting that His Majesty was addressing them again, he put his grievances with the cardinal off to the side.

“I’ve checked on Treville and d’Artagnan and understand that both men are out of danger.” Sitting back down King Louis rubbed at the ache that had begun at the base of his neck. “That is something at least to be grateful for.” His eyes shifted toward his men again. “Do you not agree?”

“Amen,” uttered Aramis sincerely. Reaching inside his shirt he pulled out his crucifix, kissing the cross reverently.

“If we had lost either of them, Sire,” swallowing hard, Athos got past the lump in his throat, “I do not know what I personally would have done.”

“I know what I woulda done,” Porthos growled ferociously. Then he remembered whose company he was keeping. “So sorry, Your Majesty.”

Waving Porthos’ apology aside King Louis was intrigued by the large Musketeer’s words. “Tell me, Porthos.”

“Ida gone on a rampage the likes Paris ‘ad never seen.” Not holding back, Porthos answered honestly and from his heart. “No stone woulda gone unturned in my search and Ida ripped the ones apart responsible.”

“If we had lost both of them,” King Louis’ steady gaze rested on the dark-skinned Musketeer, “I would have felt exactly the same way.”

Listening to this exchange about something that Athos was grateful didn’t happen, he decided to bring up a different topic. “Sire, before it escapes me,” he broke in, “I wanted to report that on our way here Tristand informed me that our men have begun to remove and cart away the rubble from the Garrison.” Closing his eyes briefly, Athos pictured what remained of their former home before he had left for the palace. “The endeavor will take some considerable time but once finished we will be able to rebuild.”

“And that, Athos,” King Louis’ eyes brightened considerably, “will be a day we can all gladly celebrate.”

“Will there be anything else, Your Majesty?” First thing Athos was going to do when finished here was to visit his protégé. After all he had promised the lad he’d let him know what had been discussed with the king.

“Non, carry on, Athos, while I have matters of state still to attend.” Smiling sadly King Louis added, “My Garrison may have fallen but the business of France does not stand idle I fear.”

“Quite so, Sire.” Bowing, Athos turned to depart along with his comrades.

++++

Once the inseparables had left the king’s chambers they didn’t get very far when waylaid by Queen Anne.

"I'm glad I caught you all." Indicating a small alcove, she guided them all over to it for some privacy. "I already told Louis but wanted to let you know where I think you should start your search." Having known beforehand what her husband had planned for his men, Queen Anne thought it best to share her information with them.

"You have some idea then, Your Majesty?" This certainly surprised Athos but he would take what he could get at this juncture.

"When we received the news of what had transpired I noticed the cardinal didn't appear upset at all." Frowning, Queen Anne remembered quite well Richelieu's face at the time. It was as if Cardinal Richelieu had what he wanted handed to him on a silver platter. "I mentioned it to Louis who thought I was imagining things at first but he promised me he'd keep an open mind and would see what may be revealed about the cardinal's involvement."

"I doubt very much that His Majesty would deal with Cardinal Richelieu harshly if His Eminence had anything to do with this." Twirling his mustache between his fingers, Aramis was surprised at the look of satisfaction in the queen's eyes.

"Louis said if he discovered the cardinal was behind this terrible affair that Richelieu's head would roll." She noted wary disbelief register in the inseparable's faces. "I believe my husband will carry out what he said, gentlemen."

"Your Majesty, ya 'aven't said anythin' yet ta the king or hinted that Richelieu tried ta 'ave ya killed?" Even though at the time the queen thought she had been saving her husband heartbreak at finding out how low King Louis’ beloved cardinal could sink, Porthos and the others had been upset that this so called man of the cloth had gotten away with nearly murdering the queen of France. If there was ever a time for Richelieu’s failed plot to be revealed to His Majesty this would be it. Then the king would have to believe that His Eminence was ruthless enough to dare anything. Including involvement in getting rid of the Garrison permanently.

"Non." She should have been surprised at Porthos’ question but oddly wasn’t. "Though I have been considering that option of late."

"I suggest you should wait until we have further proof involving the cardinal in our current situation." Always erring on the side of caution, Athos would rather have facts to present to King Louis before laying the blame at Richelieu's feet. Though deep down in his gut Athos felt that the cardinal was behind all of this. Look at how Richelieu got his way in the end, having the Red Guards back at his beck and call.

"All right I'll wait for a short while longer but not forever." Queen Anne knew that she would have to brace herself from not only Louis’ disbelief but his anger as well, when the time came for her to divulge those events that led up to her near death experience at the convent. Inwardly shuddering, Queen Anne did not look forward to the confrontation to come. "Now I must go help Constance and the others. It appears there are still a few more wounded men that need seen to.

All three soldiers bowed and watched Queen Anne head down the long hallway.

When the queen was out of his line of vision, Athos turned to his friends. "You two enlist some help," he ordered. "We're going to need it if we're to find out the culprits behind this disaster."

"What cha' gonna be doin' in the meantime?" After opening his mouth, Porthos realized what a stupid question that was. Remembering that Athos was going to keep d'Artagnan in the loop.

"A quick visit with our Gascon of course." Waving them away Athos left to visit with his protégé.

++++

_D'Artagnan's room_

Cheering up considerably upon Athos' arrival d'Artagnan struggled to sit up on his own but didn't get very far. Everything pained him when he tried to move. Upon noting Athos' face beginning to resemble a thundercloud, d'Artagnan instantly froze on the spot.

"Don't you dare undo Devereaux's and Aramis' work!" Sitting on the edge of the youngster's bed Athos glared at his protégé. "Here let me help you." Trying his best not to hurt the lad, Athos managed to plump up several pillows behind d'Artagnan's back as he aided the boy in sitting up.

"So what did King Louis have to say?" Eager to know all that was going on, since he was confined to this room, d'Artagnan grabbed onto Athos' hand.

Filling the lad in on their meeting with the king Athos noted that when he got to the part about losing three more brothers, d'Artagnan's spirits deteriorated rapidly. Perhaps Athos should have left that part out for the time being. Since it was too late to take his words back Athos decided to tell him about the queen's suspicion regarding Richelieu. When he had finished Athos patted the boy's leg and then stood up, ready to leave. Noting the pout forming on d'Artagnan's young face, he leaned down to gently grab the Gascon's chin. "I can read your mind you know."

Jerking his chin out of Athos' hold, d'Artagnan gave his mentor a glare of his own. "If you could do that you should be able to figure out the people who blew us up quite easily then."

"Impudent pup." Sighing, Athos knew he deserved that to be thrown back in his face. He had no business teasing d'Artagnan when he had so nearly lost the Gascon. "Just try not to injure yourself further for my sake at least."

"How would I hurt myself?" Thumping the bed on both sides of him with his fists, d'Artagnan's temper was starting to rise. "I'm stuck in this bed!"

"You and I are more alike than you know, remember?" Shooting the young Gascon a look that spoke volumes, Athos slapped his chapeau onto his head and left d'Artagnan to brood.

After the door closed d'Artagnan began to think of ways he could still be useful to everyone. Knowing someone was due to check on him soon, he would ask them to fetch Constance. With his friend being close to the queen, perhaps d'Artagnan could enlist her help.

++++

_Later at the gates of what used to be the Garrison_

"All right, off with all of ya now but remember come back when ya 'ave news for us." Watching four young runners from the court take off Porthos caught Aramis looking at him curiously. "They'll start askin' questions. Lots and lots of questions. Who knows?" he snorted. "We may get lucky."

"I too have been busy, mon ami," Aramis grinned and winked at Porthos. "But I've been whispering into _feminine_ ears."

"Nothin' new there, Mis." Chuckling, Porthos stood there with arms folded and listened to his brother.

"Some of the girls at Madame Angels have promised me they would discreetly ask some of their clients if they heard anything unusual. Especially if any of the men they had entertained recently were Red Guards." Catching Athos' eyes rolling, Aramis stared at the man in confusion. "What is so terrible about that?"

"Nothing." Athos raised both hands in the air. "Absolutely nothing. It is just I would have never thought to go that route myself."

"You wouldn't," snorted Aramis.

"Do we split up or do our snoopin' tagether now that we got us some extra help?"

"I believe safety in numbers is called for." Knowing that would be the best course of action to take Athos went back over to his horse. "This way we can watch each other's backs."

"Do you believe d'Artagnan to be safe tucked away inside the palace?" Mounting Belle his eyes caught the grimace that passed on Athos' face. Wondering what was behind that look, Aramis asked again. "I said..." When Athos wouldn't look at him any longer, Aramis glanced at Porthos. The latter simply shrugged his broad shoulders. As much at a loss as himself.

"Athos, answer the question," Porthos barked. "Is there somethin' we should know about the kid?"

Forced to explain himself and his feelings about his protégé, Athos looked at his friends in exasperation. "I don't trust d'Artagnan to stay put if you must know." When his brothers began to laugh, a dull red flush stole up Athos' face. "Tis nothing to find humor in."

"From your perspective perhaps not." Continuing to laugh, Aramis pulled on Belle's reins. "Our youngest is too much like you, Athos."

"Aye," Porthos chuckled. "I agree with Mis 'ere."

With his two friends full of amusement at Athos' expense, he swore under his breath. "Let's get the hell out of here!" Ignoring the snickers from behind him, Athos gently nudged Roger to head out.

++++

_Back to D'Artagnan's room again_

"Are you well, d'Artagnan?" Staring down at the pale features of her best friend, Constance perched herself at the end of his bed. "I mean since you asked to see me I thought perhaps you were feeling ill."

"Constance, I am as fine as can be expected right now," d'Artagnan huffed. "But I need a big favor from you."

"Uh huh," Constance rolled her eyes. "Last time you asked for a favor you and I ended up running for our lives after we were trying to help out one of Porthos' friends."

"How many times do I have to apologize for that?" Holding her gaze for a full minute, d'Artagnan knew when she began softening toward him. "If all is forgiven what I have to ask now is fairly simple." He pulled a face upon noting her arch an eyebrow at him. "Truly. Tis not a big deal. All I need you to do is be my eyes and ears while I'm stuck in this prison."

"Tis rather a nice gilded _prison_ , mon ami," she teased.

" _Gilded_ or not," he snapped back, "I can't lie idly about when there's work to be done."

"I'm not the one at fault, d'Artagnan." Her voice curt, Constance observed d'Artagnan begin to calm himself.

"Apologies." Bending his head d'Artagnan's dark hair partially covered his face. "I know you're not." Speaking softly he still hadn't lifted his head back up.

Tipping d'Artagnan's chin up with the tip of her finger, Constance smiled at him. "What else is involved? Because there has to be more to it than what you told me."

A megawatt smile transformed his face. "I could always count on you to back me up."

Frowning, knowing that somehow d'Artagnan was about to drag her into one of his crazy schemes, Constance retorted, "If I end up getting hurt I will take this very personally."

"Trust me." Hearing her groan, d'Artagnan chuckled. "I promise it won't _hurt_ a bit."

"Hmmmpf!" A very annoyed look crossed her features. "That's what you said the last time."

"That dress fit you like a glove," he winked at her. "It was just the right touch to get that Red Guard's attention."

"Oui." Constance brushed away some strands of hair that hid d'Artagnan's beautiful eyes. "But I hadn't counted on pulling a pistol on the man in defense of my honor."

Taking both of her hands into his own, he tugged gently until both their foreheads touched. "You won't have to worry about that this time."

"Famous last words." Giving a very unladylike snort, she began to giggle. Which started d'Artagnan off as well. "I swear I don't think either of us are grown up yet."

Wincing, d'Artagnan held up a finger. "Do not ever say that in front of Athos, Porthos or Aramis. They already believe I'm still a child to be told what to do and how to behave."

"Oh poo!" Constance scoffed. "They're much older than you or I and are just concerned that you don't do something _stupid_."

"Ah!" Acting like he got shot, d'Artagnan placed his hand over his heart. "There's that _word_ again," he scowled. "I wondered when you were going to call me _stupid_."

"Don't get me started, d'Artagnan," she warned. "Now what is it you would have me do because I have to go back to tending our injured."

Shrugging, he peeked at her from under his bangs. "Nothing much. Just a bit of spying."

"Next thing I know you'll be asking me to get Queen Anne to help you." Noting a certain look in d'Artagnan's eyes, that usually spelled trouble for Constance, she grabbed an extra pillow and threw it toward his head.

Not believing he had said anything so terrible to her, d'Artagnan watched as the pillow flew through the air toward him. Managing to dodge the projectile he grimaced when a sharp pain ran up his side from the sudden movement. "Don't throw anything else at me since I can't adequately defend myself."

"I won't involve the queen!" She stubbornly refused. Though Constance felt slightly guilty at the unintentional pain she had caused her friend.

"You don't have to. All I need for you to do is make subtle inquiries here or there and keep your eyes peeled."

"Is that all?" It couldn't be that easy. Nothing with d'Artagnan ever was and Constance knew all about that firsthand. In some other life they must have been brother and sister for all the trouble they both got in and out of.

"Mmmmm," he hummed. "Perhaps you could charm a Red Guard or two into finding out if Richelieu is involved."

"I knew it!" She was ready to box her friend's ears. " _Richelieu? Really?_ "

" _Richelieu._.. _really,_ " he repeated. "And now I'll tell you why."


	8. Chapter 8

_Same day, after the noon hour - Royal Palace_

Having left d'Artagnan's side, Constance had a lot of food for thought to chew over. Listening to her friend speak of what he had learned from Athos, she had been very surprised upon hearing that the queen hadn't shared her suspicions over Cardinal Richelieu with her. Destroying the Garrison would probably have been a dream come true for His Eminence. No doubt about that. But would he have dared after his failed attempt to kill Her Majesty? It would be the height of stupidity for him to do so, unless the cardinal really felt himself untouchable and erased any trace of his involvement in demolishing the Musketeer's home.

Before going back to the throne room to help with tending the wounded Constance noted that one of the Red Guards on duty smiled and nodded in her direction. Recognizing the young man as being one of the newest recruits in the cardinal's regiment and one of the more nicer ones of that lot, Constance smiled back in turn.

Not being part of the old guard and not having been with the Red Guards for very long when they were disbanded, Constance thought perhaps he would unknowingly have some useful information for her to pass on to d'Artagnan. His name was Sebastien and the only reason she remembered that was because the young guard had always been nothing but kind to her whenever they encountered one another. He was about the same age as a certain Gascon she knew quite well too. "Tis a terrible thing to have happened." Holding fresh bandages in her hands Constance waited for Sebastien to say something.

"I have to admit I was glad to be called back in His Eminence' service but not under dreadful circumstances such as these." In fact after his return Sebastien had become more and more uncomfortable in the company of his brother guards. They boasted about how they could lord it over the Musketeers now that their ranks had dwindled considerably. It disturbed Sebastien greatly hearing this kind of talk. The only reason he wore the uniform of a Red Guard, in the first place, was that it had been the wish of his famille to do so.

Even before King Louis lost his Garrison, Sebastien had been thinking that if his famille had not pushed him into wearing the same colors as had once adorned his papa that he may have asked Captain Treville for a chance to train as a Musketeer. But deep in his heart Sebastien knew to do so would have seen him disowned by those he cared for.

"I only wish now for the capture of the people behind such a tragedy." Wondering how long she should linger, Constance decided perhaps Sebastien had nothing to divulge that could help them. But in that she was proven quite wrong.

"I don't know if this is anything or not," Sebastien paused, "but I did overhear a few of my fellow guards speaking of a man they knew of who was good with explosives."

"Why would the Red Guards be speaking of such a person in the first place?" Now we're getting somewhere. Eager to hear more, Constance tried not to appear desperate for his answer.

"I've been concerned about that myself," Sebastien sighed. He was really beginning to feel as if being a Red Guard was the worst thing that could have happened to him.

"Did they happen to mention this man's name?" Oh how Constance prayed they had. This would be the lead the inseparables needed, that is if Sebastien had caught the batard's name.

" _Cyprien_ I believe was what they referred to him by," Sebastien quietly supplied, his eyes drifting away from hers to settle on a spot over her shoulder.

"Why haven't any of those Red Guards brought this to the king's attention?" It was an honest question and one Constance was curious to hear the answer to.

"I don't know that they haven't," he shrugged.

"If they had done so," she huffed. "I believe every Musketeer available would be hunting this _Cyprien_ down."

An embarrassed flush stole up Sebastien's face. He could feel the heat of it warming his cheeks. She had a valid point which made him feel more and more that he was working for the wrong side.

"Sebastien," Constance dared to touch his arm lightly, "between ourselves I believe you'd be a better fit as a Musketeer." Knowing she had to leave soon, Constance gave him a quick smile. "I must go."

Nodding his head at her, Sebastien's green eyes followed her until Constance entered the throne room. All the while, he pondered her words. It may be time for him to consider a change of uniform. The deuce with what his famille thought about it too!

++++

_Later in the afternoon_

Beginning to feel better as the day wore on, d'Artagnan was trying to think how far would he get if he tried to get out of bed. The poppy seeds Doctor Devereaux had sparingly been giving him, when his pain had become intolerable, seemed to have done the trick. Not only for the level of discomfort he was dealing with but the seeds worked their magic on his cough as well. Just when d'Artagnan struggled to get one leg out from under the mounds of covers Aramis had seen fit to cover him with, the door flew wide open. Trying to play the innocent, he quickly laid back against his pillows again. "Bonjour, Constance."

When d'Artagnan started to resemble an angelic figure that could do no wrong, tis when Constance always began to worry. "I'm better off not knowing what you were attempting to do." She plopped down in a chair near his bed. "I have a name for you to share with your brothers."

"That was fast work," he grinned. "Ever think of becoming a Musketeer?"

"As if," she snorted, rolling her eyes for good measure. Then Constance proceeded to explain what she had learned.

++++

_Over at The King's Stag Tavern_

Storming out of the overcrowded building Athos was ready to knock several heads together, which for once did not include Porthos or Aramis. Trying to eek out information from drunken sods, the likes of ones Athos had been dealing with for the past half hour, reminded him of why he had cut back on his drinking binges. Then again he would only be fooling himself. Limiting his intake to a single glass or two of wine, when dining out or in private, boiled down to one word... _d'Artagnan_. The Gascon made Athos want to be a better man than he was. His protégé made Porthos and Aramis feel exactly the same way. So now faced with men that he used to resemble caused him nothing but frustration.

" _Athos!_ " Walking out after his friend Porthos placed a heavy hand on his brother's shoulder. "Why didn't ya knock 'is block off?"

"I did not feel like bruising my sword hand today." Arching a prominent brow high, Athos peered disdainfully around Porthos' bulk to stare at the tavern door. "Aramis still inside?"

"What da ya think?" Hooking his fingers inside his weapon's belt, Porthos waited for the marksman to come out. When eventually Aramis made his appearance, he wore a look of complete satisfaction on his handsome face.

"Word has it that someone had been making inquiries into the hiring of any man that had experience with explosives." Observing Athos mulling that over it was Porthos that drew his attention.

"'Ow ya come by that information, mon ami?"

"Oh a petite birdie told me." Jauntily tipping his chapeau to the side and with a wink of an eye, Aramis sauntered off to mount Belle.

" _Birdie_ my ass," Porthos chuckled along with Athos as both men followed Aramis' example.

++++

_Not quite an hour later, back at the Royal Palace - d'Artagnan's room_

"And Constance told you that this Red Guard said the others called the man _Cyprien_?" This was the badly needed intel they needed. Now they had a name and could get word out to their contacts to locate this individual's whereabouts.

"According to what Sebastien said, oui." Fending off Aramis' attempts to check d'Artagnan for fever he grabbed the older man's hand, shoving it away. Scowling up at him he snapped. "My fever is nearly gone!"

Folding his arms, Aramis stared down the young Gascon. " _Nearly_ is not _completely_ , petit frere," he countered. When d'Artagnan simply turned his head away, Aramis glanced at Athos. "Am I not correct?"

"In all things medical," Athos drawled, "I bow to your expertise."

Smugly smiling, dark eyes twinkling, Aramis tilted his head to the side studying d'Artagnan's belligerent features.

"Porthos." Looking over where his friend stood alongside his mentor, d'Artagnan's soulful eyes pleaded with his larger brother. "Help me out here."

"I ain't steppin' inta the middle of this, whelp."

"You have been through a traumatic experience, d'Artagnan." Aramis' voice was not lacking in sympathy for what his young friend had endured, "physical as well as emotional. So I will ignore your feeble attempts to escape my prodding and poking." Upon hearing the pup's long drawn out sigh, Aramis tried hard not to let his features reflect his amusement.

Athos and Porthos were now anxious to be away, since the lad had just given them the means of bringing the cardinal down. Perhaps once they had this Cyprien in custody and placed him on his knees before His Majesty, Richelieu's days would be numbered. At least they prayed it would be so.

Before departing Athos wanted to commend their youngest's efforts in helping them. "I must say this for you, d'Artagnan," a fond look graced Athos' face, his gaze lightly rested upon his protégé, "for someone n a sick bed you did more to discover what we were seeking than all of our footwork combined."

"Eh," Porthos grunted. "Don't forget the kid 'ad Constance 'elpin' 'im."

"When there is time," Athos shot his friend an affronted look, "I will give her my thanks as well."

"I will pass that on to her myself when next I see her if you'd like, Athos." Receiving a nod of approval from his mentor, d'Artagnan's gaze encompassed all his friends. "As for being confined in this manner," he laughed, "you can't keep a good Musketeer down for long, eh?" When pain lanced through his freshly healing side and his ribs protested in tandem, d'Artagnan was sorry his mirth got away from him. Garnering sympathetic winces from his brothers did little to make him feel better. "Oh go away do!" Upon the departure of the inseparables he decided to take up Morpheus' offer, slipping under the covers he closed his eyes letting sleep claim him.


	9. Chapter 9

_Same day - early evening_

Having informed Captain Treville that they had a name of a man who was possibly involved in the attack on the Garrison, the inseparables left to seek one of Paris' more popular taverns in hopes of catching this Cyprien.

++++

_The Bawdy Lady Tavern_

Going on their third drink of the evening the inseparables were beginning to think upon moving to the next tavern on their list, before they became too inebriated to continue. They had spoken with many of the patrons here, plying them with questions about Cyprien, going so far as to even purchase them their own own choice of liquor in hopes of getting information. However they struck it lucky, when one of the drunken men they had spoken with earlier draped himself over their table. 

"Oh there ye be." Hiccuping, Samuel belched loudly. Blurry, red-rimmed eyes took in the inseparable's expectant features. "That one ya wanted jus' came in and is sittin' at that second table over yonder."

"'Ere." Shoving a full mug of ale into the stranger's hand, Porthos grinned. "Ya earned it."

Happily taking the brew off the swarthy-faced Musketeer, Samuel belched again. "Don't mind if'n I do, gents." Stumbling away from them, he began whistling an off-key tune.

"Tell me we don't act like that when in our cups?" Drolly asking that question of his friends, Athos' arched an eyebrow.

"Nah." Eyes glinting with wickedness, Porthos winked at Athos. "We're usually a lot worse off than 'im."

"Speak for yourself, mon ami." Affronted from his brother's words, Aramis huffed. "I'll have you know I never hiccup nor belch in that manner."

"Non, mon frere," Athos chuckled. "You only politely pass out on us so that it is up to Porthos and myself to carry you home."

"I beg to differ." Pouting, Aramis glared at them both. "And speaking about _passing out_ ," he wagged his finger at Athos. "Pot meet kettle."

"Touché." Acknowledging Aramis' spot on remark, Athos dipped his head in return. His mind back on why they were here in the first place, he looked in the general direction of where their prey was supposed to be. With a jerk of his head toward his friends Athos led the way over.

Circling the table where the man sat, Athos slowly unsheathed his sword to place it underneath the chin of the drunken man. If Cyprien turned out to be the one who helped destroy their home, Athos would be sorely tested not to end this man's existence. But that wouldn't do at all. Cyprien, if guilty of this crime, would have to be interrogated first and then brought before King Louis. Hoping that Cyprien could carry a tune, because Athos intended on making the man sing like a canary, he grimly smiled. Lifting the man's chin up with his blade, Athos stared into a pair of unfocused grey eyes. "Is your name Cyprien?"

Opening his heavy lids, Cyprien squinted up at the stranger. "Depends on whose askin'."

"I am!" Athos snapped. His patience wasn't unlimited. If this drunken lout wasn't going to cooperate, or be capable of coherent speech, he'd have to make Porthos carry him all the way back to the palace.

After the removal of the sword from his chin, Cyprien glanced up into blue eyes cold as the steel this stranger's sword was made from. That brought him to his senses faster than a splash of icy cold water to his face could. It was then Cyprien realized who he was dealing with. Swiveling his head to the left he encountered two other pairs of eyes hardened to flint. Both of them looked at him in the exact same manner as the blue-eyed one. His eyes took in the leather pauldrons they wore on their shoulders, making Cyprien cringe inside with fear. Trying to stand up on shaky legs Cyprien found himself shoved, none too gently, back down into his chair. Glancing over at the large, darker-skinned Musketeer, he swallowed hard. "What do you fellows want with the likes o' me?"

"Information," growled Porthos who got right into Cyprien's face.

Placing a booted foot upon the empty chair beside Cyprien, Aramis leaned forward. "Word has it that you're the man to see if a person wants something go... _boom_."

"Says who?" Sweat began trickling down Cyprien's forehead, as he felt the walls begin to close in on him. If he wasn't careful they'd turn into prison walls right fast, if he couldn't talk himself out of this.

"Red Guards apparently," Athos drawled with a sharp glance at Aramis. The latter drew out his pistol, aiming it at Cyprien's head.

"Talk is cheap or 'aven't even Musketeers 'eard that?" Cyprien dared to sneer at them, putting on a show of bravado.

"Care ta repeat that?" His voice deadly, as were his intentions, Porthos grabbed Cyprien by the throat. "I said-" He stopped when the man's face began turning purple. Feeling a light tap to his shoulder, Porthos caught the shake of Aramis' curly head. A quick glance over at Athos proved that he too agreed with the marksman. Releasing the batard, he snarled. "Ya lucky we need ya alive."

"For now at least," Athos casually added. With a nod at Aramis, both of them grabbed an arm jerking Cyprien from his chair so hard that it fell on the floor with a resounding crash. What with the din going on within the tavern, not a soul noticed the commotion.

"Where ya takin' me?" Frightened out of his wits, Cyprien began struggling between the two soldiers.

"Since we don't 'ave a Garrison no more," Porthos' spittle covered the cowering man's face, "and our captin' is laid up," he poked Cyprien in the chest, "the Bastille will 'ave ta do."

"I don't like that place," Cyprien complained, while sailing through the door to fall on his hands and knees.

"Been there before I see," Aramis laughed. "I'm not surprised to hear it. Are you Athos?"

"Not a bit." Bending down Athos, with Porthos' help, picked Cyprien up. "I'm sure the Bastille will once more welcome you with open arms." With a kick to the man's backside, Athos had Cyprien on the move.

++++

_Next day, mid morning - Palais-Cardinal_

A knocking upon his office door interrupted Richelieu's time going over notes for an important meeting with His Majesty later that day. Figuring if he ignored the noise, whomever it was would get the hint and leave him be. But the pounding continued. Tossing his paperwork to the side, slapping his hands hard upon his desk, Richelieu stood up just as his door crashed open. "I could have you thrown in the Bastille for entering unannounced!" he shouted.

Bowing before His Eminence, Bruyere was slightly out of breath from running clear across the grounds to give the cardinal his news. "My apologies, Cardinal, but I didn't believe this was something that could wait."

"Speak then." Sitting back down Richelieu steepled his fingers together, resting his chin upon them.

"It has just been discovered that Cyprien was apprehended last night by the Musketeers and thrown into the Bastille." Having been privileged to be one of a very small group of Red Guards to engage Cyprien for the cardinal, Bruyere knew that the man's arrest would not bode well for His Eminence.

Shocked upon hearing this, Richelieu could only blankly stare at his guard. This would be a disaster of major proportions for him, if he didn't take care of this immediately.

Wondering if he should repeat his information, not sure if Cardinal Richelieu totally understood the implications, Bruyere opened his mouth only to close it again upon the wave of His Eminence' hand.

"I don't know how it was leaked out," Richelieu hissed, "but what concerns me now is silencing Cyprien before those Musketeers have time to interrogate him."

Understanding what the cardinal wanted carried out, Bruyere bowed. "It shall be done, Your Eminence."

Watching the Red Guard leave, Richelieu put his head in his hands.

++++

_A short while later, Royal Palace - Captain Treville's room_

"Good work, gents." Pleased that the inseparables had hunted down and captured the man who hopefully held vital information for the king, Treville felt that a giant weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"How are you feelin' now, Captin'?" Seeing the officer's right arm in a sling and Treville's head covered with bandages, Porthos winced.

"Very lucky to be alive," Treville smiled. "I hear our Gascon has been driving everyone crazy about getting out of here."

"Tis an understatement," Athos announced deadpanned, which elicited a huff of laughter from all of them. Noting Treville grimace, he knew that amusement of any sort was not conducive to broken ribs. Having been there and done that more times than he cared to remember, Athos could sympathize.

"When are you going to interrogate Cyprien?" Wanting nothing more than to be the one to do so, Treville understood he was in no fit shape to undertake such a task.

"After we inform d'Artagnan and then His Majesty." Noting the captain's eyebrows shoot up, Aramis couldn't help but snort.

"We figured since d'Art was the one ta find out the information for us," Porthos added, dark eyes twinkling, "kid should be told before the king."

"Just don't tell Louis that." Silently Treville agreed with the inseparables that the lad should be told right away. "Go on all of you and tell d'Artagnan before the youngster breaks out of the palace." As the men left, he wondered what Louis' reaction would be.

++++

_d'Artagnan's room_

"Where's the whelp?"

"Devereaux couldn't have released the boy." Concerned for the wellbeing of their youngest, Athos searched the entire room while Porthos went out to talk to the guards in the hallways. Walking toward a closet, Athos nearly tripped over a pair of long legs peeking out from underneath the bed. "What the deuce are you doing down there, Aramis?"

Sliding out from under the bed, Aramis stared into stormy blue eyes. "Simply checking, mon ami."

Rolling his eyes, sometimes Athos had to wonder if Aramis had a few screws loose inside that handsome head of his. Then again, he could say that of all of them from time to time.

Running back into the room, Porthos shrugged his shoulders. "No one's seen d'Art."

"Tis impossible!" Athos retorted. "The Gascon would be severely hampered by his injuries and wouldn't get very far."

"Perhaps he's been moved and the guards didn't know." Aramis suggested.

"That would make sense." Nodding his agreement, Athos strode out of the room.

"Guess'n we should follow 'im."

"Unless you and I want to stay here twiddling our thumbs," Aramis smirked.

"That's what I like about ya, Mis," Porthos laughed. "Them pearls of wisdom ya spout."

"I'll have you know, mon frere," Aramis grinned, "when I do spout those _pearls_ you'll know it."

++++

_Throne room_

It took the inseparables nearly half an hour to locate their missing fourth. Having finally discovered the pup in the very last place they would have expected, they watched d'Artagnan as he helped Constance and Queen Anne tend to the injured.

"We had no idea you were up to doing something like this." Astonished that the physician would allow this, Aramis promised himself to have words later with Devereaux.

"There were two prior escape attempts already, Aramis." Squealing on d'Artagnan was fun or so Constance thought, upon noting the blush that covered her friend's face.

"Oui," Queen Anne smiled at the boy. "It was only under dire threat that he wouldn't pull his stitches that Doctor Devereaux gave d'Artagnan permission to do this."

"As you can see I'm not moving around much," d'Artagnan pointed out, sitting on a highbacked chair. "I'm only handing out the medical supplies as needed. I can't do much else."

"You better be careful, pup, or I'll know the reason why." Laying a hand on the Gascon's shoulder Aramis squeezed it gently.

"We have just come from visiting with Captain Treville," Athos told them. "Cyprien is now in the Bastille awaiting interrogation."

"Tis good news," Constance shared a satisfied look with d'Artagnan.

"He is being guarded closely is he not?" Concerned that someone would get to the man before his brothers could get the answers they needed, d'Artagnan bit his lower lip.

"There are at least half a dozen of our men stationed at the Bastille which should prove sufficient in number." Noting that the room was emptier than before, Athos looked at the women. "Tis good to see less of our wounded about?"

Handing d'Artagnan some gauze, Queen Anne acknowledged the lieutenant's remark. "Things are indeed looking up."

"Pretty soon you'll have more men to order around, Athos." Giving his mentor a cheeky grin, d'Artagnan frowned when the older man ruffled his hair.

"We're off ta see His Majesty next. So don't go causin' any mischief while we're gone, whelp."

"Porthos!" Pretending that his brother's words hurt, d'Artagnan pouted.

Constance's light laughter filled the room at Porthos' warning. " _Mischief_ is his middle name so that may be hard to do."

"Try anyway, petite frere." Waving goodbye at the pup, Aramis followed his friends out of the room.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are coming to a head now. Hee hee! Watch out Richelieu your time is coming (evil grin here).
> 
> ++++

_Same day and time - King Louis' chambers_

"Do what's necessary, Athos, to see if this man you have in custody worked alone or had employed others to help him." Pleased with this piece of welcome news, King Louis allowed himself a small smile. "Of most import is who hired him for I won't believe he just decided to blow up my Garrison on a whim." Perhaps finally justice would be served. It wouldn't help the men he had lost, God rest their souls, but it would go a long way in improving the low morale of the rest of his regiment.

Cracking his knuckles, Porthos was very happy to oblige by ripping into Cyprien.

Listening to that sound, King Louis game a huff of laughter. "I am glad not to be in your prisoner's shoes." Turning to look at his lieutenant he added, "Report to me as soon as you finish your interrogation, Athos."

"Of course, sire." Bowing Athos turned on his heel, departing quickly as did his brothers.

++++

_Bastille_

Wishing to be anywhere but in here, Cyprien paced back and forth in his tiny cell. If the cardinal got wind that he had been caught, his life would be forfeit. Not that he had better chances with the Musketeers. He trembled in fear knowing that Richelieu's reach was far and wide, realizing that His Eminence could possibly get to him before the king would. Then again if Cyprien gave the Musketeers what they wanted perhaps he could make a deal with His Majesty. If that did not go well, the only thing of importance would be how his own life ended.

There was no chance of escape for him not with half a dozen of the king's soldiers on guard. That didn't even count the Bastille's guards as well who also watched him like a hawk anytime they came into contact with Cyprien. It was as if the prison guards worried that he could break out on his own. If they believed that than perhaps Cyprien could sprout wings and fly out of here. Yeah, right, he snorted quietly at his ridiculous thoughts.

There were three Musketeers stationed right outside his cell and three more covering the entrance. When a prison guard was allowed inside to give Cyprien something to eat, he reached past the iron bars to take the plate. What he didn't notice, until too late, was the flash of a sharp poignard striking out at him. When it did Cyprien's eyes opened wide in shock, fingers losing their grip on the plate which fell to the ground with a clatter.

Musketeers Nicolas and George arched eyebrows at the noise, while Claude caught the prison guard's arm.

"He's just clumsy is all," Bruyere said noting the Musketeer's hand fall away from him. "He can eat off the floor for all I care." Then he walked away and out the door.

But something didn't sit well with the Musketeers. Being dark inside, Nicolas grabbed a torch to bring it closer to Cyprien's cell. Spying the man on the ground clutching his side, Nicolas cried out. "George, go get the keys to this cell now!"

Not only did George come back with keys in hand but Barthelemi and Hubert followed on his heels. The latter two were struggling with the prison guard who had just brought Cyprien his dinner.

When Nicolas unlocked the cell door he turned Cyprien over onto the man's back. Upon noting blood covering their prisoner's shirt and hands, that were still clutching Cyprien's side, Nicolas swore. "Merde!"

Claude and George secured torches inside the cell while they then aided Nicolas with the injured prisoner.

It was this scene that greeted the inseparables as they arrived.

Taking everything in at a glance, immediately Aramis used his blue sash to staunch the flow of blood. But after examining the wound he decided it appeared a lot worse than it looked.

While Aramis dealt with Cyprien, Athos and Porthos walked toward the still struggling Bastille guard.

"Didn't see his face too well when he first came to serve Cyprien his meal," Hubert explained. "When he left though I remembered that I had seen him before."

"Who is he?" Taking in the prison guard's features, Athos couldn't recall ever seeing the man before today.

"Bruyere!" Hubert spat on the ground. "A Red Guard!"

Exchanging troubled looks, Athos and Porthos each took one of Bruyere's arms to slam him against the cell bars.

Growling in Bruyere's ear, Porthos said, "Since ya put Cyprien outta commission I'll jus' work ya over instead."

"Do leave him alive for later, Porthos." His tone bordering on boredom, Athos smirked, leaving his brother free to do whatever he wanted. Entering the cell Athos squatted down beside Aramis. "Will he live?"

"Oui." Having wrapped the wound tightly, Aramis stood back up. "It wasn't very deep."

"Sloppy work," Athos remarked. "I expect nothing less from a Red Guard." Blue eyes twinkling he added, "I've always said that the cardinal needed to hire men who could properly carry out Richelieu's orders."

"I, for one, am glad Richelieu has poor taste in picking out his own men," Aramis grinned. "Makes it easier on us when we kick their asses." Looking down upon Cyprien's unconscious body, he pursed his lips. "I would feel better getting him someplace where I could treat his injury more thoroughly than in here." Listening to sounds of fists hitting flesh, Aramis grimaced. "Happy I'm not that guy." Curious, now that he had time to think upon it, Aramis glanced over at Athos with a question in his eyes. "This puts a different light on things finding out our captive is a Red Guard. Does it not?"

"We now know for certain who was behind all of this," was Athos clipped response.

"Though unless Cyprien spills his guts..." Knowing that the Red Guard would retain his silence, it still was up to Cyprien to give them what they needed. Now that the injured man had been nearly killed, that may turn out to be an impossible task.

With a determined light in his eyes, Athos observed the bloody crusted features of Bruyere's face. Thoughtfully looking over at Aramis, Athos' lips curled upward. "Do not give up hope. We may yet have another canary in our pockets."

"First things first. We have to make a decision where to take Cyprien." Glancing at Athos, Aramis observed how relaxed his brother appeared.

"What do you suggest?" Casually leaning against the cold brick wall, arms neatly folded, Athos remained silent waiting for a response from the marksman.

Pondering the question for but a moment, Aramis replied. "One of our apartments could do." Upon noting the small twitch of Athos' right eye, Aramis hid his amusement well. Usually such a reaction meant that his older brother was beyond irritated with a situation. "It won't be for very long. Only until I can make sure Cyprien won't die on us."

"I thought you told me his injury wasn't severe." Rubbing at his right eye, Athos sighed heavily.

Smiling Aramis tilted his head to the side, studying his old friend. "Tis not." Pointing a finger at Cyprien's cell he chuckled. "You know me and my flare for the dramatic."

"Only too well, mon ami." Listening to Porthos still pounding on Bruyere, Athos shouted. "Porthos! I hate to interrupt when you are having such fun but we do need him capable of speech!" The low growl that accompanied Porthos' answer made Athos nearly shudder.

"'E'll be capable all right," Porthos barked. "Can't guarantee walkin' 'ill be in 'is future anytime soon."

"Nicolas! George! Hubert!" Calling each name out Athos watched the men file in front of him. "You all know where Aramis lives?" Receiving three head bobs in turn Athos felt quite smug noting dismay cross the marksman's features. "Tis where we will be taking Cyprien with your help."

"My place?" Glaring at Athos was all that Aramis could do in face of his lieutenant's order.

"Your suggestion, mon frere." Arching a brow, Athos grinned at the scowl currently aimed his way. "Plus tis where you have your own stockpile of medicinal supplies," he shrugged a shoulder. "Makes sense."

"Oui," Aramis agreed. "It does." Sighing, he ruefully shook his head knowing when he was beaten.

"Unless," sidling over to his brother Athos nudged Aramis in the ribs, "you have a mistress stashed away at your place."

"I never bring them there." Affronted, Aramis' scowl returned.

"How well I know," Athos laughed. I just wanted to get under your skin."

Joining them Porthos dragged the nearly unconscious form of Bruyere over to throw down at Athos' and Aramis' feet. Grinning, he wiped blood from his knuckles. "I bet 'e'll sing real pretty for us now."

"Give or take an hour or two judging by the looks of him." Sending Porthos a sharp look Aramis gazed upon Bruyere's face, bruised and puffy from Porthos' fists.

"If'n ya wanted 'im in better shape, Mis, then ya should 'ave roughed 'im up yourself." Looking Aramis up and down, Porthos snorted. "Considerin' 'ow dainty like ya can hit I doubt it would 'ave done much good."

"I take offense at your remark, Porthos. Especially after having my hands full with Cyprien." Aramis poked Bruyere with the tip of his boot until the Red Guard began to stir. "We could always throw some water on him I suppose."

"Claude! Barthelemi! Rogier!" When the men congregated around Athos, he tapped his sword on Bruyere's chest. "You will take him to Aramis' as well." Turning to Porthos and Aramis he pulled them aside. "I have to settle things here first and then I will join you."

"Ya want I should wait for ya before grillin' 'em?" A feral look entered Porthos eyes when gazing upon their two prisoners.

"Oui." Gripping Porthos' forearm, Athos nodded. "Besides Bruyere needs to come around first unless we do as Aramis suggested and douse him with water." Cocking his head he studied Cyprien closely. "Our explosive expert's injury may either make it easier to gain information from him or Cyprien may clam up instead."

"Cyprien may prove difficult," Aramis agreed. "Only time would tell." Clapping his friend on the shoulder he said, "We'll be waiting for you, Athos." Tipping his hat low, Aramis led the procession from the Bastille.

++++

_Royal Palace - Queen Anne's chambers_

"Anne, I want you to rest for a time. You have been doing too much." Looking at her wan complexion Louis took her hands into his own, squeezing gently. "You have seen much of what evil that men can do." Placing a gentle kiss upon the palm of one hand Louis kept a firm hold on it. "I wish it had not been so."

"I believe I have told you once before that I'm not some fragile hot house flower that would wilt at the first sign of distress!" she responded tartly.

Chuckling, Louis released her hand. "It would appear that young Constance has rubbed off on you."

Her blue eyes shone brightly. "I believe you are correct." Both of them began laughing until Anne pushed Louis down into a chair. Her mirth subsiding, Anne took the other chair opposite him.

"Louis, I have something that I've been needing to tell you." Knowing that he wasn't going to believe her, Anne resolved that it was time Louis knew why she had no faith in Cardinal Richelieu. "Remember the attempt on my life by that Irishman Gallagher when I had to take refuge at the convent?"

"Mon Dieu!" Louis cried out. "Tis barely a month ago. Of course I do. But why bring that up now?" A gentle fingertip upon his lips ended further discussion on his part.

"You will hear me out, Louis, no matter what I say." At his nod, Anne continued. "If it were not for the bravery of Athos, Aramis and the nuns, I don't know what would have happened to me. But then Captain Treville arrived with his thrown together crew and suddenly I was safe again."

Noting Louis open his mouth, Anne gave him a severe look and instantly he smacked his lips together. "It was later discovered who truly was behind the plot." Gripping her husband's hand tightly, she looked at him with nothing but compassion.

Throat suddenly gone dry as dust, Louis croaked, "Who?"

"I think you already know the answer to that," she responded softly.

"I won't believe he would do such a terrible thing! Not only is it treason against the crown but it would mean his head!" He shook his head in disbelief, looking away from her. But Anne would have none of that, as she took his chin in her hand turning his face back towards her own.

"When the inseparables, d'Artagnan and Treville set a trap for the cardinal I was safely hidden and heard every damning word Richelieu admitted too." Releasing Louis' chin Anne wrung her hands together nervously. "As I approached him His Eminence fell to his knees before me. I then warned Richelieu his life would be forfeit if I ever caught him in another treasonous act." Her eyes beseeched Louis to believe her. "I'm sure the cardinal was more than relieved when I informed him you wouldn't be told."

"Why didn't you?" Tears began pouring from Louis' eyes.

"As I explained to the cardinal it would have only broken your heart." Leaning her forehead against Louis', Anne's tears joined that of her husbands. Though her tears were for Louis and not for Richelieu.

"Tis not that I don't believe you," Louis swiped at his face, "but Treville will verify this?"

"Oui, along with Athos, d'Artagnan, Porthos and Aramis." Dabbing at the tears still staining Louis' cheeks, Anne reached for another tissue.

"Tis why you believed the cardinal had something to do with destroying my Garrison."

"Richelieu looked all too pleased at the news when he was in our presence." She was sympathetic to her husband's plight. Just like Captain Treville, the cardinal was Louis' closest advisor and friend. Now Anne had pulled the rug right from under Louis' feet. "I also think you should know that it was d'Artagnan's idea behind the plot to catch the cardinal in the act."

"I will have to promote that boy soon," Louis weakly quipped.

"I believe that would be a nice surprise," Anne laughed. "Considering he just became a Musketeer."

"Oh," Louis smiled sheepishly. "I forgot that part." His trust badly shaken upon finding out that he had a red caped viper in the palace, he was still having a hard time believing it. "Why? Why, Anne?"

"Cardinal Richelieu believed you would have been better off wed to another who could give you children." She gave him a lopsided smile. "For the good of France of course."

"This all started when that German banker Count Mellendorf came for a visit," Louis said tightly. "Along with his daughter Charlotte."

"As I was away and upon coming back discovered that Mellendorf was being brought up on charges, I would assume so." Standing up, Anne gazed down on her husband's bent head. Placing a hand on his dark hair, she again spoke quietly. "I do not know nor want to hear what you discussed with Richelieu during my absence that could have possibly led to my demise. But I know you, Louis, and would never think that you would cause me harm."

"Of course not!" He too stood up taking her hands in his. "Whatever I may have said was done so in a drunken stupor at the time." His words to Richelieu were coming horribly back to Louis. Unintentionally he may have given the cardinal the wrong impression of his wants.

She was beginning to get a clearer picture of what took place. Anne wasn't pleased about it but at least she now understood better. Apparently the cardinal listened to the drunken ravings of an upset monarch and thought to take action upon them. For Richelieu to take matters into his own hands the way he had spoke to Anne of a devious and dangerous mind. One that she believed France could well do without.

"Anne, I need to think upon all you have told me before visiting my old fox." Unsteadily Louis got to the door. "Not that I don't believe the truth of your words."

"I expected nothing less, Louis. But after you speak with the captain I suggest you do not do anything rash yet. Not until the inseparables have solid proof of whomever brought our Garrison to this point."

"You ask much of me." His lips tightened into a thin line. "I will do as you say if only to add this treasonous act to Richelieu's bold attempt on your life." With a heavy heart Louis took his leave, feeling as if his world had just crashed down around him for a second time in so short a span.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See notes at bottom.
> 
> ++++

_Still the same day – around one in the afternoon_

_Aramis’ apartments_

Having returned from the Bastille, Athos helped himself to a generous portion of Anjou that Aramis tried to keep on hand for whenever Athos came to visit. Peering over the rim of his drink at Porthos, he raised his glass in the air. “Care to join me in a toast?”

Retrieving an empty glass Porthos filled it too with wine. The drink halfway to his lips, he paused. “Eh. What are we toastin’?”

“Why Cardinal Richelieu’s fall from grace of course.” Smirking, Athos dipped his head then finished his wine.

Staring into his drink, Porthos frowned. “Don’t count those chickin’s til they’re all hatched.”

“I have always trusted in your skills during our interrogations.” Patting the larger man on the back, Athos snorted in amusement. “Remember that time you were to work over that malandrin for information on where he stashed the money he had stolen from the king’s guests?”

That was a hard memory for Porthos to forget. “One look at me when I entered Captain Treville’s office and the crook couldn’t stop confessin’.” Sipping his wine, Porthos’ shoulders shook with silent laughter. “’E even confessed to crimes we didn’t even know about.”

“Much to Treville’s astonishment and our own amusement, if I recall.” Hoping that this would be the case with the man Bruyere attempted to murder, Athos badly wanted to hear Richelieu’s name upon Cyprien’s lips

“I see you’re both enjoying my fine vintage.” Throwing a bloody towel into a basket along with the others, Aramis went over to a basin of clean water to wash up. “Would one of you mind pouring me a drink?”

Handing his friend a full glass, Athos perched a hip on the edge of a table, folded his arms and simply stared expectantly at the marksman.

Thanking Athos with a dip of his head, Aramis took the proffered drink. “Cyprien’s wound has been thoroughly cleaned and patched up.” Running his tongue over his lips, tasting the wine that lingered there, Aramis closed his eyes in bliss. Listening to Athos impatiently clear his throat to gain Aramis' attention had him rolling his eyes at the older man. “Tis no risk of infection as I tended the injury in time,” he offered somewhat smugly, knowing that was what Athos wanted to hear.

“Is he conscious?” Drumming his fingers upon the tabletop, Athos tilted his head to the side.

“Define _conscious_?” Hearing grumbling noises from his eldest brother, Aramis darted a look in Athos’ direction.

“Have I ever told you that at times you try my patience mightily?” Scowling, Athos waved a threatening finger at the grinning lunatic.

Hand over his heart, Aramis laughed brightly. “Numerous occasions come to mind, mon ami.”

"Parbleu!" Throwing his hands up in the air disgusted, Athos was cross with his brother. " _Can_... _Cyprien_... _be_... _questioned?_ " he bit out, ready to strangle Aramis at the man's vague answer.

"Mmmmm." Humming softly Aramis replied. "More or less." Ducking his head, he hid a smile from Athos' sharp eyes.

" _ARAMIS!_ "

Turning to look where Porthos stood, evidently enjoying the show, Aramis bowed. "Before Athos turns purple," he shifted his gaze over to his annoyed friend, "Porthos you have my permission to have at it."

Cracking his knuckles, grinning broadly, Porthos brushed past Aramis. Catching Athos' quietly murmured words of _Dieu Merci_ , on his way to Cyprien's room, he banged the door open startling his victim who stared back at Porthos in fright. "We're gonna spend some quality time tagether," he growled menacingly. Watching the man try to curl himself into a ball, Porthos chuckled. "If'n ya give me what I want," he rolled up his sleeves, "this'll go a whole lot easier on ya."

"Can't you see I'm hurt!" Cyprien cried out, cowering on the bed.

"I was there, ya imbecile! I know that!"

He knew that the swarthy faced Musketeer was ready to inflict major bodily harm to his person so Cyprien quit stalling. "I'm dead either way... aren't I?"

"Swingin's better than 'avin' your 'ead lopped off, if'n ya ask me."

"Depending on my answers, eh?" It came to him, albeit too late, that taking on the job the cardinal had hired him to do now would lead to his own death. Gingerly sitting up on the bed, bleak eyes roamed over Porthos' serious features. This is what his life now boiled down to. Having no one else to blame but himself for the mess Cyprien now found himself in, he hung his head down. "Ask me whatever you want."

++++

_While yet in another room..._

Flexing his bruised hand, Athos gazed down upon Bruyere's downbent head. "Sorry about the blood, Aramis." He was speaking of the drops spilling onto the floor from the cuts Athos' had re-opened on the Red Guard's bruised and bloodied face.

"Non," Aramis hummed ruefully, "you are not."

"You know me so well, mon frere." Blue eyes alight with laughter, Athos' gaze swung back upon Bruyere. The latter glared at him from the man's one good eye. His left one had swollen shut long ago from Porthos' beating at the Bastille. "Do you still insist on my re-arranging your features?"

Spitting out blood past swollen lips, Bruyere snarled. " _MUSKETEER SCUM!_ "

Arching a brow, one hand on his hip, Aramis cocked his head to the side. "Athos, was he uncouth enough to say what I believe he said?

"Our hearing has never let us down before. Nor has it this day." It appeared that Athos' knuckles would continue to get a work out. "We have not misheard him."

"Can I go next then?" Not waiting for his brother to respond, Aramis gave a round house punch to Bruyere's stomach. Though the Red Guard was currently trussed up in a chair, Aramis knew the other man felt the force of his blow. Aiming a fist to Bruyere's unprotected face next Aramis wasn't quite satisfied when he heard bones crunching underneath his hand. So he followed up with an upper cut to the Red Guard's chin. Now Aramis was happily satisfied with the results.

Letting Aramis take over doling out the punishment for the time being, Athos casually leaned against the wall. "We can keep this up all day. Though I am not really positive that you will survive it." His lips curled into a slight smile though it never reached his eyes. "Musketeers all know that Red Guards run at the first sign of trouble."

Head spinning badly, hardly able to see, Bruyere wanted to respond with all the hatred he held inside of him for these king's guards. Try though he may, Bruyere couldn't get his tongue to work.

"And we also know," Aramis smiled charmingly, "where all the weak spots are."

Deliberately spitting blood on Aramis' boots, Bruyere sneered at the Musketeer. "Do your worst! We'll see who is weak!"

Nonchalantly shrugging one shoulder, Aramis turned to his brother. "We tried."

"Tis all one can do." Stepping forward, Athos gently pushed Aramis aside. "This may take some time."

"You do know we've already missed lunch." As if Aramis' stomach had heard him it chose that moment to rumble loudly.

"Send word to Serge to have some food sent over to us."

Bowing politely Aramis sauntered toward the door. "Try not to abuse your hands too much, Athos. After all I am the one that has to treat them."

"What of your own hands?" Arching a brow, Athos studied the marksman's skinned knuckles.

"I know how to use my fists without causing too much harm to them," Aramis smirked. "Not like some people I know." Figuring he better cut and run before Athos threw something at him, Aramis quickly left Bruyere alone with his brother.

Lips quirked in an amused smile, Athos heard the door click shut behind him. Studying the damage he and Aramis had wrought thus far on their captive, Athos tried to decide where to inflict further punishment without killing the Red Guard.

++++

_Nearly forty minutes later_

The inseparables enjoyed the hearty beef stew Serge had provided them with. Along with that the old cook had sent over a block of cheese and a freshly baked baguette.

"I wonder how long our two prisoners are going to last." Savoring his Anjou, Aramis glanced at the room that contained Cyprien. It hadn't escaped his notice either how Athos' gaze hardly strayed from the room housing Bruyere. "We haven't given them any food you know."

"They can starve for all I care." Breaking a piece off from the baguette, Porthos placed a slice of cheese on top of it.

"Peace, Porthos." Holding up his hand, Athos nodded accepting the shared feeling amongst them. "You are not alone in that thought, mon frere." Noting wrinkles creasing Aramis' forehead, seemingly deep in thought, Athos wondered what was on the other's mind. "Something else amiss that I should know about?"

"Just thinking of my old parish priest from the country church where I grew up." Pushing his empty plate aside Aramis spread out his arms, his voice took on a deeper, darker quality. " _No one heals himself by wounding another._ "

"If that was an imitation of your priest," Athos' eyes glinted with mischief, "I am glad to not have had him when I was a young lad. That voice alone would have gotten me to atone for even the smallest of sins."

Waving a baguette in the air, Porthos stabbed Aramis with a fierce look. "Your church also teaches _an eye for an eye_ ," he reminded him while popping that piece of baguette into his mouth.

A witty response instantly was on the tip of Aramis' tongue but he never got the chance to voice it when foul curses were shouted at them through the closed door to the room where Bruyere stayed.

"He has proven most stubborn," Athos admitted, rubbing his still sore hands.

"Not like Cyprien." Nodding in Porthos' direction, Aramis was pleased that at least one of them had succeeded.

"We have what we need from him." Standing up Athos clapped Porthos on the shoulder. "Cyprien will report all to His Majesty."

"Guess I should feed 'im since 'e's gonna talk." Grudgingly Porthos put together a plate of food, taking it to Cyprien's room.

More curses continued to loudly spew forth from the Red Guard. Pushing back his chair, Aramis stood up and went to join Athos at the threshold to Bruyere's room. Bowing mockingly, Aramis waved his friend to go first. "Age before great beauty." Listening to Athos' swear at him, Aramis dark eyes danced wickedly.

++++

_Royal Palace – Captain Treville’s room_

With a light rap upon the door, King Louis stepped inside the room where Treville was convalescing. Noting that his old fox was sitting up, right arm in a sling, trying to read a book, brought a smile to his lips. “Feel up to a visitor?”

“For you, Sire, anytime.” Indicating an empty chair beside his bed, Treville placed his novel down. “I welcome the company. Tis been boring having to deal with doctors and being fussed over.” He began to laugh. “Besides I think I’ve read the same page twice over already.” Noting a deep sadness emanating from the young monarch, Treville reached over to take Louis’ hand. “Talk to me.”

“Anne and I discussed what truly happened after her return from the convent.”

Not totally surprised, for Treville knew it had weighed heavily on Queen Anne's conscience, he was secretly happy that she had gathered her courage together to tell Louis the truth. Even knowing that the queen had only been trying to protect her husband, it was still best to air out the dirty linen. “I won’t white wash it for you then,” he squeezed Louis’ hand gently. “But if I had had my way I would have presented Richelieu before you as a traitor to the crown.”

“And to me personally as well,” King Louis added softly. “She wants me to wait and see who is responsible for losing our Garrison first before my arresting the cardinal.” King Louis hadn’t realized what a strong grip he had on Treville’s hand, until the older man winced. “So sorry.” He placed the captain’s hand back down upon the bed, before standing up. “Anne believes Richelieu to be the instigator behind everything that’s recently happened.”

“So you will wait to add those sins on top of his other transgressions.” Treville nodded in understanding. “I approve.”

“You are not surprised that Anne pointed a finger at His Eminence?”

“Louis,” once more Treville took the younger man’s hand into his own, “Richelieu showed you one face and entirely different one to the rest of us." Pursing his lips Treville added, "And it was a most unpleasant one to deal with on many occasions."

“Then tis only a matter of time until I can pronounce sentence over the cardinal.” Running a hand through his hair, Louis sighed deeply. “ _There are none so blind as those who will not see. The most deluded people are those who choose to ignore what they already know._ ” He gave a sad chuckle at his own words. “Perhaps I had an inkling all along but told myself the cardinal was looking out for France’s best interests. That proverb seems to reflect my life up until now.” He tipped his head toward Treville. “Wouldn’t you say?”

“Only in regards to Richelieu not to the rest of the people who love you,” Treville pronounced firmly. “Remember that.”

“I will try, my old fox.” Leaning down King Louis placed a kiss on top of Treville’s grey head. “Be well for I will need you to be at your best when the time comes.”

“As you command, Sire.” Watching the young king leave, Treville felt nothing but pride in Louis. “About damn time too!”

++++

_Palais-Royal_

Pacing back and forth, hands clasped behind his back, Richelieu periodically stopped to glare out his windows. “Where the deuce could he be?” Bruyere must have met with some trouble. Pinching the bridge of his nose his thoughts were interrupted by incessant pounding upon the doors to his office. “ _Crisse!_ ” he bellowed. “Quit that infernal racket! I cannot think!”

Not having gained permission to enter, a timid Red Guard took his life into his own hands and cautiously opened up the doors. “Your… your Em… Eminence,” he stuttered out.

Whirling around Richelieu stabbed the guard with a fiery look that would have quelled any man, less alone a simple soldier. Snapping his fingers Richelieu’s voice stung like a whip. “What is it this time?”

Approaching the cardinal, Lieutenant Royer stammered, “Word has… reached… us that Bruyere… is in the hands… of the… Musketeers.” Gazing upon His Eminence’ furious face, Royer stepped back several paces for fear the cardinal would strike out at him in anger.

A cold shiver ran up and down Richelieu’s spine at this unexpected and most unwelcome news. “Are you quite sure of your information, Lieutenant?”

“Oui, Cardinal Richelieu.”

“Leave me now!” Right after the door closed behind the lieutenant, Richelieu tried to work out what the possible ramifications of the Musketeers having Bruyere meant for himself. He could only assume that the Red Guard had failed his mission to murder Cyprien. So Richelieu's devious mind began to carefully calculate his next move. “I need an ace in the hole,” he slowly stroked his goatee. “They have one of mine so it would seem a fair exchange for me to take one of theirs." Slyly amused, Richelieu knew exactly the right person to fit the bill. “ _D’Artagnan_.”

++++

_Notes:_

_Malandrin_ \- brigand  
_Dieu Merci_ \- thank God  
_Deuce_ – pretty sure most of you know that it’s used as an epithet - _The Devil,_ in an exclamation of confusion or anger.  
_Crisse_ – Christ _(Boy was Richelieu really upset)_  
_Baguette_ \- narrow loaf of bread with crisp crust  
_Quote: "No one heals himself by wounding another"_ is from St. Ambrose (born A.D. 339-397). He was the bishop of Milan, biblical critic, and initiator of ideas that provided a model for medieval conceptions of church–state relations.  
_Proverb: There Are None So Blind As Those Who Will Not See..._ According to the ‘Random House Dictionary of Popular Proverbs and Sayings’ this proverb has been traced back to 1546 (John Heywood), and resembles the Biblical verse Jeremiah 5:21 (‘Hear now this, O foolish people, and without understanding; which have eyes, and see not; which have ears, and hear not’). In 1738 it was used by Jonathan Swift in his ‘Polite Conversation’ and is first attested in the United States in the 1713 ‘Works of Thomas Chalkley’. The full saying is: _‘There are none so blind as those who will not see. The most deluded people are those who choose to ignore what they already know.'_


	12. Chapter 12

_Same day, a few hours and one dreadfully beaten up Red Guard later - Aramis' apartments_

Gazing ruefully upon his floor, Aramis huffed. He glanced at Athos and pointed to all the blood there. "Couldn't you have been a bit neater?"

He knew Aramis would be more concerned upon the red slicked covered wood than in Bruyere's poor condition. "I'll pay to have a cleaning woman come to take care of it later if it bothers you so much."

"What?" Aramis exclaimed in surprise. "And put all kinds of horrible thoughts into her head as to what I get up to in my own home?"

"I seriously doubt she'd even blink an eye over the blood, Mis." Trying not to laugh at the outrage reflected in his friend's expressive eyes, Porthos gently clapped his shoulder in affection. "You're a Musketeer. Everyone knows to expect the unexpected from us."

"Even cleaning women," Athos added with a definite twinkle shining from his blue eyes.

Blowing out a long breath Aramis' gaze shifted from his stained floor to the Red Guard. "I must say you have had better days, Bruyere." So much blood covered Bruyere's face that he was nearly unrecognizable. His features were puffy and swollen, and what was that on the floor? "Athos, I believe you knocked out a tooth or two." Bending to pick them up, Aramis chuckled while tossing them up and down in his hand. "They'll make fine souvenirs." Placing them in the pocket of his doublet, he grinned at his brothers.

Barely able to see out of either eyes now, Bruyere grunted out unintelligible words.

Scratching his head Porthos stared at Athos. "I thought ya told me ta go easy on 'im cause 'e needed ta spill his guts ta us." Confused Porthos waited to see what his eldest friend's excuse would be this time.

Flexing his fingers, Athos grimaced. "I admit that Bruyere tried my patience to the extreme." He looked anywhere but at his comrades, for Athos knew they'd be rolling their eyes at him. "I may have been a tad over zealous in trying to gain our information."

"A _tad_?" Amused, despite the grave situation they found themselves involved in, Aramis nudged one of Bruyere's legs with the tip of his boot. When the Red Guard grunted something, Aramis smiled. "Still alive then?" Shooting Athos a semi-stern look he teased, "Try to keep him that way until he's willing to confess in front of our king, if you will."

Listening to the mumblings of the Red Guard, Porthos leaned in closer. "What did ya say again?"

"Rich... Riche... Richelieu..." Trying to swallow, though his tongue felt too swollen from biting down on it to do so, Bruyere managed to convey what they wanted to hear. "Orders... cardinal."

"Could you try for some coherency this time?" Finally! The hours it took to reach this point may have not been in vain after all. Rubbing over his bruised knuckles, Athos relished this long awaited moment.

"Athos, give the man a chance to speak," Aramis gently admonished. "Bruyere will tell us all now I'm quite sure."

Stepping in front of the Red Guard, Porthos made sure Bruyere didn't forget he was till there. Immovable as a mountain, though Athos was named after one, Porthos would be a force to reckon with if Bruyere tried to lie to them. "'E better," he threatened in a tone of voice that left the Red Guard in no doubt that Porthos would pick up where Athos left off. Kicking out at the chair, jerking Bruyere out of his stupor, he waved a warning finger in the man's face.

"Aramis." Tilting his head, indicating an empty bucket on the floor, Athos smiled. "If you would be so kind to fill that up with water."

"Since you put it so nicely," Aramis dipped his head, "it shall be my pleasure."

"Ya better 'ave coin on ya ta pay that cleaning woman, Athos." Laughing at the miserable look on Aramis' face at the reminder, Porthos teased, "Ah, Mis, it'll give 'er somethin' ta gossip about with 'er friends."

"Tis what I'm afraid of." Trying not to dwell upon it, Aramis grabbed the empty pail and went outside.

++++

_Royal Palace - d'Artagnan's room_

Staring down into another cup of steaming tea, then back up into Bernadette's anxious features, d'Artagnan licked his lips. "I just had some. Is Doctor Devereaux and Aramis trying to drown me?" he quipped.

Puzzled, Bernadette was quick to respond. "I only know what I was told, d'Artagnan."

"Which would be what exactly?" He didn't mean to frazzle the young woman's nerves but it appeared he was doing so anyway by the way Bernadette fidgited from one foot to the other.

"That the kitchen staff forgot to add the pain draught the doctor had ordered put in the tea you drank earlier."

"Good thing I like tea." D'Artagnan's brow quirked upward. "Tis fine, Bernadette. I'll drink this up right away."

Having other duties to perform, Bernadette acknowledged the Gascon with a slight curtsy before departing.

Almost immediately after finishing his hot tea, much to d'Artagnan's surprise, he discovered that his eyelids had a mind of their own. They kept trying to close shut on him, regardless of his struggles to keep them open. Quite tired now d'Artagnan gave up the fight and slid under the covers to fall into a deep, dreamless, sleep.

A scant few minutes later found two men, dressed as regular palace staff, walk into d'Artagnan's room.

"What happens if someone asks what we're doing with him?" Not entirely happy with this plan, Barclay had to follow orders.

Unfolding the stretcher that had been left in the young Gascon's room, Astley shot a perturbed look at the other man. "We've gone over and over this."

"I have a short attention span," Barclay snapped. "Tell me again."

Rolling his eyes, Astley snorted. "Tis quite simple. If we're questioned just tell them that we're moving the lad to a different room."

"But I thought we were bringing the kid to Cardinal Richelieu." Confused more than ever, Barclay glared at Astley not liking the answer he'd just received.

"Mon Dieu! However you made it into the Red Guards is beyond my comprehension." Ignoring Barclay's look of hurt, Astley went over to check on the youngster. "The Gascon's knocked out all right." Uncovering d'Artagnan he went to take the lad's shoulders. "Barclay, you get his legs."

Together they managed to move the young man onto the stretcher.

"Cardinal Richelieu gave me instructions of another secret passage for us to take that would lead us to tunnels that run underneath the Louvre. Then they'll eventually connect to another set which will take us directly to the Palais-Cardinal." Beginning to lift his end of the stretcher Astley waited for Barclay to pick up the other end.

"All that way carrying the Gascon!" Barclay complained.

"Would you rather see us all dangling from the noose," Astley spat. "Or worse... losing our heads."

Barclay and Astley, like Bruyere, had been part of the small group of the cardinal's men that were involved in Richelieu's plot. Definitely Barclay didn't want to lose his head for he liked it fine just where it was. Hanging didn't suit him any better. So, without anymore complaints, he lifted his end of the stretcher to help carry the Musketeer away.

++++

_Early evening - Palais-Cardinal_

Entering the cardinal's chambers, Astley bowed before him.

"Tis done?"

"As ordered, Your Eminence."

"Excellent," Richelieu murmured. Snapping his fingers at Astley to leave, he went to his desk. Sitting down he reached for his quill. Dipping it into the ink he then began to write his letter to Captain Treville.

++++

_Half an hour later - Royal Palace, Captain Treville's room_

Checking up on the captain, Constance intercepted a missive intended for him. She had told the page she would see to its delivery. "Tis for you." Handing him the letter, her eyes took in the fact that the officer appeared to be feeling better. "Good to see some color back in your face."

"Tis nice to know I won't be scaring off anymore of Louis' staff then." His blue eyes sparkled with mirth, until they rested upon the words he was reading.

Noting Captain Trevilles eyes close, as if in pain, Constance was about to order another draught for him. But he grabbed her arm preventing movement of any kind.

"I must get word to Athos, Porthos and Aramis immediately!"

"Why?" Her eyes went instantly to the missive the captain still gripped tightly in his good hand. "What was in that?" Her chin jutted out stubbornly. "Don't bother to lie either. I've been around you lot long enough to know a tall tale when I've heard one."

"Constance," Treville pulled her down to sit on the edge of his bed, "Richelieu has d'Artagnan."

Jumping off her perch, Constance stared at him in disbelief. "That can't be! Tis a terrible game the cardinal's playing with you," she stamped her foot. "D'Artagnan's safe as can be here."

"Are you sure about that?" Watching a myriad of emotions cross her face, Treville tugged on one of her hands. "When was the last time you checked on him?"

"An hour ago. Queen Anne and I had to threaten d'Artagnan to get him to go back to his room and rest." Running a hand through her hair, Constance bit her lip. "I'll go make sure he hasn't been absconded away," she said somewhat hysterically, not understanding how this could have happened under everyone's noses. But before Constance did another question popped into her head. "What else did Richelieu have to say?"

"He somehow discovered that we have his Red Guard in our custody." Wearily leaning his head against the headboard of his bed, Treville's eyes closed. "Athos had sent word to me here that they captured Bruyere after the man's botched attempt on Cyprien's life." When he opened his eyes back up again, Constance had the door partially opened ready to leave. "If Richelieu truly does have d'Artagnan the cardinal will want a trade."

Knowing well how devious the cardinal could be, Constance figured that would be His Eminence's next step. "But that's if this isn't another one of his fabricated lies just to mess with our heads," she huffed. "I'm going to his room now."

D'Artagnan's room was only a little ways down from Treville's own. So when he heard Constance's screech of outrage he pitied anyone that met the young woman's wrath on the way back to his room. A couple of minutes passed before she came racing back to him. Her titian hair was all askew but Treville didn't dare inform Constance to its condition. She had enough concerns to deal with as it was.

She didn't have to confirm what the captain already knew. "What do we do now?"

"The cardinal's assumed correctly that Bruyere failed and that Cyprien still lives so Richelieu wants both men returned to him alive." Crumpling the missive in his left hand he let it fall to the floor.

"Or else?" Arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently on the floor, Constance was ready for battle just as any Musketeer would be. Cardinal Richelieu had her best friend in the whole world and no one messed about with d'Artagnan as long as she drew breath. This is what she got for hanging around the inseparables so much. They made her feel as if she were invincible, even when you knew you weren't.

"I believe you already know the answer to that, Constance."

"Has the cardinal lost all sense of reality?" she shouted. "He should realize the king knows you have Cyprien." Running both hands through her hair, not being a vain woman, Constance didn't care how mussed up it appeared. "Cyprien disappears like that," she snapped her fingers, "suspicion would fall on Richelieu's head. Especially now that His Majesty was told about the events at the convent."

"Ah!" Treville gave her a smile of satisfaction. "Tis the one thing that works in our favor. Richelieu has no idea that Queen Anne confessed to the king the cardinal's plot to assassinate her."

"Do you know if the captured men have talked yet?"

"Non," he shook his head. "I have to send a Musketeer over to Aramis' apartments. Let them know what has happened to d'Artagnan."

"Richelieu must feel this Bruyere won't talk and that Cyprien would be too scared to go against the cardinal," Constance pointed out. "Otherwise why trade for d'Artagnan?"

"Tis simple really," Treville's lips twisted. "Richelieu controls his men with fear. He wouldn't believe any of his people capable of stabbing him in the back. Hence, once we get d'Artagnan back it would be our word against the cardinal's when it came right down to it."

"Then we would have the upper hand with the knowledge that King Louis won't believe His Eminence's lies." She could have danced for joy. "I want to be right up front with the rest of you when Cardinal Richelieu falls."

"Before that could happen I have to inform the inseparables and have them come back here so we can brainstorm on how to handle this properly." Trying to move around Treville accidentally leaned on his broken arm. "Merde!" Instead of being berated for his language, he heard Constance giggling. She was probably used to hearing oaths from his men and nothing surprised her any longer. "Help me sit up better. I keep sliding down."

Plumping up pillows behind the captain, she helped him into a more comfortable position. "Tis all the better for us if Bruyere and Cyprien point their fingers in the cardinal's direction. But I sincerely doubt either one of them would want to be turned back over to Richelieu's tender mercies."

"They're going to face certain death either way but perhaps King Louis' justice would be swifter than the cardinal's." Staring once more at the crumpled letter on the floor, Treville's brows drew together. "Before we get to ahead of ourselves we'll have to find out where Richelieu has the lad and get d'Artagnan out of the cardinal's clutches before we answer the man's demands."

"D'Artagnan's probably being held at the Palais-Cardinal." It would be nearly impossible to get him out of there. Then again the inseparables excelled at doing the impossible. Constance had been witness a time or two to the miracles they've managed to pull off in the past.

"If we told Louis now I fear that Richelieu would have d'Artagnan killed before we could even act." Damning his inability to simply leave this bed, Treville sighed in resignation. "There would be no reason for the cardinal to keep the lad alive once His Eminence realized all was lost."

"I'll help you write your letter and then find one of your men to see to its delivery." She went over to sit at a desk pulling out what she would need.

"I'll feel better once we're all together," Treville's lips pursed. "Perhaps then we could devise a plan to rescue our young Gascon."

Neither of them had heard the door quietly open. Actually the door hadn't closed properly in the first place after Constance had rushed back inside. Anyone with half an ear could have listened in to the captain's conversation with Constance. But they were lucky.

"I may be able to help you out in that regard," offered a soft spoken voice.

Both Treville and Constance stared dumbfounded at the young man standing partway through the door. He was clearly unsure of his welcome especially wearing the uniform of a Red Guard.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See notes at bottom.
> 
> ++++

_Still the same day, early evening – Aramis’ apartments_

A knock upon Aramis’ door had interrupted a lively debate with his brothers whether or not to disturb the king now with their prisoners or wait until the coming morn. Though Aramis wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of housing either Bruyere or Cyprien under his roof for longer than he had to.

When Aramis yanked the door open, Pierre nearly toppled inside. Steadying the younger Musketeer, with a hand on the other’s chest and back, he gave him a sharp look. “What brings you here?”

“You’re not going to like it, Aramis.” Handing over Captain Treville’s missive, Pierre really didn’t want to hang around for the fireworks he was sure to follow after the older man read the note. Slowly he crept backwards, toward the still open door, so that he could make a hasty exit if needs must.

“ _NOM DE DIEU!_ ” Swearing when he read and then re-read the letter again, Aramis held it out for Athos to take. Turning around to speak with Pierre again, he wasn’t surprised to find that the younger man had already departed. Honestly Aramis was used to such actions from others when faced with the inseparable’s wrath. He would have done much the same in Pierre’s place.

“ _MERDE!_ ” Slapping his hand so hard upon the table, that it could have cracked, Athos was murderously angered and rightly so. “I may not wait for King Louis to render his punishment on Richelieu!” he spat. “I’ll go over to the Palais-Cardinal myself and put my sword to his black heart!”

Crushing the letter in his right hand Athos realized that Porthos had no idea why he and Aramis were beside themselves with fury. Noting the obvious curiosity staring him in the face, from his larger friend, Athos unfolded the crumpled missive and gave it to Porthos. “Richelieu has d’Artagnan and wants to trade our captives for him.”

“I’d like a piece of that batard myself!” Porthos growled, throwing the note into the trash can. “If’n ‘e’s hurt that kid…” Trailing off he saw the same determination to save their youngest in his friend’s faces.

“Treville wants us to meet with him to figure out our next move.” With a calm he didn’t feel, Athos went to retrieve his doublet. Then after fastening his weapon’s belt around his waist he shoved his chapeau on his head, tugging it down low as he was wont to do. Porthos and Aramis soon followed suit. "Gentlemen, it would seem our decision has been made for us in regards to bringing our prisoners to the king.” Heading to Cyprien’s room, Athos stepped inside while his brothers went to get Bruyere.

++++

_Palais-Cardinal_

Feeling quite groggy, d’Artagnan slowly cracked one eye open at a time. Carefully sitting up, for the world seemed to be revolving around him, he tried to focus on his surroundings.

Shaking his head, which ended up being a terrible idea as his stomach rolled with the movement, d’Artagnan wondered if he were truly awake yet. Unless someone had re-decorated his room while he had slept, an unlikely idea or so d’Artagnan thought, he could have sworn he had been moved to a different location. That tea really had packed quite a whollop apparently if it had left him with delusions of this sort.

While d’Artagnan pondered on this puzzle, his door opened to admit Cardinal Richelieu. His eyes widened upon the sight of His Eminence standing there appearing regal and smug both at the same time. It was then that dismay filled him with the realization of why d’Artagnan’s room appeared unfamiliar to him. “I’m no longer in the Louvre am I?”

“And they say you’re just a simple farm boy.” Chuckling at his quip Richelieu walked further into the room staring hard at the youngster until it was d’Artagnan that turned his face away first.

“You’re going to use me as a bargaining chip to get Cyprien back.” It didn’t take a _simple farm boy_ to figure out why the cardinal had gone to all the trouble of drugging him. For d’Atagnan realized that was how he had ended up here.

“Not only Cyprien but one of my own as well.” Noting that d’Artagnan’s apparent surprise wasn’t faked, Richelieu figured that the young Gascon knew nothing of Bruyere nor the man’s part in all of this. Nor the Red Guard’s capture by the lad’s comrades-in-arms.

Knowing there must be a good reason for his friends to be holding a Red Guard prisoner, d’Artagnan didn’t bother peppering Richelieu with questions. “You should be afraid, Cardinal,” he smirked. “Very afraid I would say.”

“I believe, young d’Artagnan, you are the one who should be if Captain Treville and his men do not turn over to me what is mine.”

“We shall see won’t we?” Saying it with all the confidence of youth, and trust in his friends, d’Artagnan noted His Eminence’s smugness slowly began slipping.

++++

_Royal Palace – Captain Treville’s room_

Still in pain, Treville swallowed down a foul tasting medicine forced upon him by Doctor Devereaux and Constance. The young woman stood hovering over him until he drank the concoction fully. Handing her the empty cup he shuddered. “I hope you are pleased with yourself.”

“How do you ever expect to get better unless you follow the physician’s orders?” Huffing, rolling her eyes, Constance thought for the umpteenth time how stubborn men could be.

Shortly thereafter the arrival of the inseparables made Treville sit up straighter in bed and forget about his grumblings over the doctor's medicine. “Where are they?” were the first words out of Treville's mouth.

“Under close guard in one of the cell’s below the Louvre.” Standing beside his captain, Athos noted lines of pain creased Treville’s forehead. “Now I would like to know how our Gascon had been kidnapped.” Suppressing his anger badly, he waved his hand in the air.

One hand resting on the pommel of his rapier, the other fiddling with his blue sash, Aramis nodded his head. “As do I.”

Stepping between his two brothers, Porthos’ fury was starting to climb again. “What the ‘ell were the palace guards all doin’ when this took place… _sleepin’_?”

Exchanging a wry look with Constance, Treville shrugged with his right arm that was in the sling. Wincing, he muttered an oath. Upon noting Constance tapping her lips with a finger as if she were thinking about taking him to task for his language, Treville quickly explained all that he knew so far which didn't amount to very much.

“No one actually knows how Cardinal Richelieu got his hands on d’Artagnan.” Which wasn’t what his men wanted to hear, Treville knew that, but it’s all he had to offer. His lieutenant looked about ready to plunge his sword into the next person who would have the utter gall to bother getting into Athos’ space. Aramis wasn’t much better with the way he kept fiddling with his pistols. Treville expected him to take aim at any Red Guard that was stupid enough to breathe the same air as the marksman.

Which left Porthos. Ah and if that one could have been a dragon in another life Treville could easily have seen him breathing fire on the Palais-Cardinal, burning it down to the ground. Which, when Treville considered it, wasn’t a bad idea at all since he had suffered the loss of the Garrison. Seemed only fair. But dragons were few and far between nowadays.

“I’m worried that d’Artagnan will try to escape on his own,” Athos said to the group. “Hurt as the lad already is I fear he’d do himself another injury.”

“Let us not borrow trouble.” Thinking that they had the monopoly on it as it was, Treville sighed. ‘I just don’t have time for the nervous breakdown that I deserve.”

“I will have mine after d’Artagnan’s returned to us.” Raising a brow Athos caught Constance trying, unsuccessfully, not to laugh at the captain’s and his own remarks.

“Breakdowns aside,’ Treville studied the three anxious men closely, “do I assume Bruyere and Cyprien sang for you as expected?”

“Tweet, tweet.” Tipping his chapeau  back from his forehead, Aramis' eyes twinkled merrily. Then quickly waxed his face serious upon noting the severe expression Treville just subjected him to.

“Admitted Richelieu’s guilt did they?” Rubbing at the ache in his broken limb, Treville noted the broad smile on Porthos’ dark face.

“Couldn’t get Cyprien ta shut up once he started singin’,” Porthos chuckled, remembering all the yammering from the man.

“Whereas it took fists of persuasion to get Bruyere to sing.” Athos’ lips curled into the semblance of a smile.

“Tis music to my ears, gents.” Relaxed upon knowing he finally had Richelieu where he wanted him, Treville needed to ease the inseparable's anxiety over d'Artagnan. He knew his men were restless and wanted nothing more than to retrieve their youngest as soon as possible. "I promise all of you that the lad will be reunited with you soon."

"What da ya know that we don't?" His voice roughened, thinking about the whelp being with the cardinal. "D'Art's not in the best of shape and may need our 'elp gettin' away from Richelieu." Exchanging a long look with Athos, Porthos was not happy about any of this.

"An unexpected ally is giving us aid in that regard." Boy would Treville pay good money to see the look on the cardinal's stunned face when he discovers d'Artagnan's disappeared.

"Is this person trustworthy?" Not liking the idea of some mysterious individual pulling off a rescue mission of their pup instead of them, Athos had to pray the captain hadn't put his faith in someone totally unsuitable for the job.

"I'll say this much," Treville offered them a pleased smile, "shortly all of you will be welcoming a new brother-in-arms to the regiment."

The three Musketeers could only stare at their commander curiously, wondering why the officer didn't share with them the identity of this man.

"Athos, you should see to it that your prisoners are brought before Louis right now before anything else could go wrong." Sharing a concerned look with Constance, Treville knew she thought the same thing.

"Trust in us to bring them to His Majesty," Athos stabbed the older man with a sharp look, "as we're putting our trust in your plan that d'Artagnan will be safely delivered to us." Jerking his head toward the door, Athos raised his hand for his friends to follow him.

After the men had left, Treville felt the warmth of Constance's hand resting on his shoulder. "I'm not sure they liked the idea of someone else breaking our Gascon out of the Palais-Cardinal."

Amused, Constance lightly laughed. "I'm positive they didn't enjoy hearing it." But she knew that Sebastien hadn't been happy as a Red Guard and only needed a bit of a push in the right direction to switch sides. Hearing the conversation between herself and the captain was just the incentive Sebastien needed. Who would have ever thought that one of Richelieu's own would betray the holier than thou cardinal?"

++++

_King Louis' chambers_

Drumming his fingers upon his desk, King Louis waited for the inseparables to bring him the proof that would, no doubt, cause his heart to bleed... for himself and for France.

The guard at his door knocked upon it once then slowly opened it. "Sire, the inseparables have arrived."

"Let them pass." Standing up King Louis tugged on his robe. Observing his soldiers file in he had to admit that the sight of one man made him cringe inside. "Mon Dieu!" he covered his mouth. "Ah bien, I did tell you to get your information any way you had to."

"This," Porthos kicked at Bruyere until the Red Guard literally fell at His Majesty's feet, "is the piece of scum that tried to kill Cyprien in the Bastille."

"Plus Bruyere was one of the Red Guards involved in the plot with Cardinal Richelieu to blow up our home." Kicking out at Bruyere's back, Aramis enjoyed hearing the Red Guard's moans of pain.

Holding Cyprien up, Athos bowed slightly before his king. "It was Cyprien that was hired personally by Cardinal Richelieu to do the job." Glowering at the man he held upright then down at the Red Guard laying at the king's feet, Athos growled. "Both of you confess your crimes to your monarch now!"

Minutes went by listening to their confessions. After they had told him everything, King Louis turned milk white. Suddenly his legs gave out from under him. If it wasn't for Aramis' and Porthos' quick reflexes, he would have ended up on the floor. They helped him to sit back down in his chair for which King Louis was grateful. Closing his eyes he replayed their damning words in his head. Richelieu was guilty as sin so the next step would be up to him and him alone.

"It would also appear that d'Artagnan's been kidnapped by the cardinal ." Not receiving any enjoyment from this announcement, Athos handed His Majesty the note that was given to Treville.

Perusing the missive, King Louis' spirits darkened. Throwing it onto his desk he turned to his Musketeers. "Someone wiser than I once told me that it is easier to forgive an enemy than a friend." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I cannot in all honesty ever forgive what the cardinal has done to me or my men." When he stood back up, his back was rigid with tension that was reflected in his face. "Richelieu is now my enemy. May God have mercy on his black soul."

++++

_Palais-Cardinal_

Easily passing through the halls, Sebastien nodded to other Red Guards on duty. He had spent a considerable amount of time talking with several other guards to find out where d'Artagnan was being held. He was relieved to know that Cardinal Richelieu hadn't put the injured young Musketeer in their damp cells which were located below the Palais-Cardinal, just as they were in the Louvre.

Finally discovering the room where they were keeping the Gascon, Sebastien acted all chummy with the two other Red Guards on duty. Then when they relaxed in his presence, Sebastien took them both out with lightning fast moves rendering the guards unconscious. Now the hard part would be to convince d'Artagnan that he was here to help him escape as Sebastien quietly slipped into the room.

++++

_Notes_

_Nom de Dieu_ – God damn it!  
_Batard_ – Bastard

I have no idea if the real Palais-Cardinal contained cells below it similar to the Louvre. It just worked well into my storyline.

The quote: _"it is easier to forgive an enemy than a friend"_ is from Austin O'Malley, M.D. (October 1, 1858 - February 26, 1932). He was an ophthalmologist and a professor of English literature at University of Notre Dame.

The line where Treville says: _“I just don’t have time for the nervous breakdown that I deserve”_ , comes from a book of British humor devised by a Britain - Ged Backland. The books involve an old lady named Aunty Acid and are quite popular in the UK. Their office is in Liverpool, England. So since I’ve discovered her, and added a book to the libraries collection that a patron donated, there will be forthcoming snarky comments from time to time in some of my stories. I will blame it all on _Aunty._


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See notes at bottom.
> 
> ++++

_Believe it or not it's still the same day just later in the evening now_

_Palais-Cardinal_

Since it was deemed that d'Artagnan was hampered enough by his healing wounds, plus had two Red Guards right outside his door, there was no need for Cardinal Richelieu to have the Gascon shackled to the bed. Therefore when d'Artagnan swung his head around to glare at the Red Guard that just entered he was puzzled when said guard put a finger to his lips. "Captain Treville sent me," Sebastien whispered.

D'Artagnan liked to think that he knew most of the Musketeers in the regiment by now so he was pretty sure he had never seen this one before. If the captain had sent him, d'Artagnan figured the man must be undercover. "Did you borrow that uniform from the Red Guard barracks?" He meant it as a jest but was very surprised at the answer he received.

"Tis my own." When the Gascon tilted his head to the side studying him, Sebastien offered up a sincere smile. "Trust me, d'Artagnan. I'm really on your side." He moved closer to the bed. "Just ask Constance."

Sitting up straighter, d'Artagnan's face broke out into a wide grin. "You're _Sebastian_!"

"Oui." Throwing the covers off the injured Musketeer, Sebastien helped d'Artagnan get out of bed.

"This is embarrassing," d'Artagnan muttered while carefully getting his legs to hold his weight as he was still weakened. Steadying himself against Sebastian's sturdy bulk, he huffed, "I'm still in my nightshirt. They wouldn't even give me any clothes after imprisoning me in this room."

"It doesn't bother me in the slightest." His green eyes roamed the room, looking for something only Sebastien knew existed. When he had newly joined the reformed Red Guards, Sebastien had to learn the layout of the Palais-Cardinal. He also had been privvy to certain hidden passages located within. Having been told that most of the rooms were equipped with them, Sebastien could only hope this one did as well. Feeling d'Artagnan wobble slightly, he glanced at the Gascon. "Do you feel able to walk or I could hoist you over my shoulder if needs must."

"I'm fine." Feeling anything but, d'Artagnan lied through his teeth. It wouldn't be the first time nor the last.

"Captain Treville and Constance told me that would be your answer." Holding back his grin when d'Artagnan shyly ducked his head, Sebastien made sure he had a firm grip on the other man's arm. Leading the Gascon over to a large bookcase, his eyes fell upon a volume of poetry that seemed familiar to him.

"Uh, I hate to say this, Sebastian." Tugging at the arm keeping him upright, d'Artagnan was perplexed at the soldier's actions. "Tis a poor time to want to read."

Shoulders shaking, when Sebastian turned bright eyes filled with amusement on the Gascon, he simply winked at d'Artagnan. Pulling the book out he turned it on its spine then slid it back into place. Soon after a panel in the wall near the bookshelf quietly slid open.

Brown eyes shining with approval d'Artagnan said, "You do that rather well."

"Actually the cardinal needs to become less repetitive with how one accesses his secret passages." His small huff of laughter followed them well into their escape through the opening, while behind them the panel quietly clicked shut.

++++

_Nearing the midnight hour - Royal Palace_

_Captain Treville's room_

"I am keeping Cyprien and Bruyere in the cells below the Louvre where Cardinal Richelieu cannot reach them. Wearily sitting down beside his old fox King Louis grabbed Treville's left hand, gently rubbing his thumb over the officer's stiff fingers. "As per my orders the other Red Guards involved in the sabotage have been arrested."

"Bruyere gave them up?" Treville shouldn't have been surprised. His inseparables had worked the Red Guard over until the man was nearly insensible.

"Oui." Releasing the captain's hand King Louis' fist thumped the bed hard startling Treville. "They will be housed in the dungeons as well and will await their execution along with Cyprien and Bruyere."

Standing silent in the room with them were Aramis and Porthos. Athos couldn't wait around worrying about his protégé any longer. He had gone to supervise, making sure all the other prisoners made it to their cells and were heavily guarded.

When a heavy knock upon the door made all of them jump, Porthos was the first to go open it.

The young page's eyes widened upon noting the dark-skinned giant in front of him. Staring way up into the Musketeer's face, he swallowed the lump in his throat. "I'm to inform His Majesty that d'Artagnan is back in his room."

Smiling down into the lad's wary eyes, Porthos reached out to place a large hand on the page's shoulder. "Ya brought good news ta us, kid." Releasing him Porthos watched the page go back about his duties. Closing the door he turned to face everyone. "Our whelp's home again. Right where 'e belongs."

"Aramis," having relinquished his chair King Louis had gone over to his two Musketeers, "go seek Athos out to tell him about d'Artagnan." Clapping his hands together he then led Porthos by the arm. "Come let us check on my young champion."

"Do not forget to let Queen Anne and Constance know!" Treville hollered out after them.

"Quite right." Motioning to Aramis, King Louis was about to add another order to his previous one but the marksman beat him to it.

Dipping his head Aramis said, "I will inform them on my way to seek out Athos." Offering a low bow to the king, Aramis departed.

++++

_D'Artagnan's room_

It was becoming overcrowded in the area surrounding d'Artagnan's bed. Only in his nightshirt and feeling slightly uncomfortable he pulled the covers up over his waist, especially since there were ladies present. Meaning he was protecting the queen's and Constance's sensibilities, not to mention his own innate modesty.

"Your Sebastien is quite an able soldier." Arching a brow at Constance, d'Artagnan chuckled softly at her wild blush staining her cheeks red.

"He's not _my_ anything," she hissed in the Gascon's ear. Wanting nothing more then to clout d'Artagnan on the head for embarrassing her, Constance forgave him this time since he was recovering from his wounds.

Noting the highly amused faces of Their Majestys, Porthos and Sebastien, d'Artagnan tugged her down to sit near him on the edge of the bed. "I disagree," he whispered back.

"Before coming here to see d'Artagnan," noting young Sebastien appeared nervous, King Louis tried to put the man at ease, "Treville told me that you were the one responsible for returning him to us."

"We are pleased by your actions." With a loving glance at d'Artagnan, who had become quite dear to all of them, Queen Anne took Sebastian's hand into her own slim one. 'I believe you will be a fine addition to the regiment." Out of the corner of her eye, she caught her husband nodding his head in agreement.

"My queen and I are in complete accord on this." Lifting Anne's hand to his lips, Louis placed a soft kiss upon it. "As usual, cherie d'amour." His attention back on the matter at hand, his gaze bounced between both d'Artagnan and Sebastien. "Both of you are similar in age. So I expect you'll become fast friends."

Acknowledging each other with a simple dip of their heads, both young men's thoughts ran on similar lines.

It was then Aramis and Athos returned. The latter made no bones about who he came to see. Completely forgetting protocol he bypassed the king entirely, making a beeline straight for d'Artagnan. Placing a hand either side of the Gascon's face, he bent his forehead until it touched his protégé's. "You have not been harmed?"

"Non." Gripping his mentor's forearms, d'Artagnan gently squeezed them. "I was just the means to an end for Richelieu."

Relinquishing his hold on the youngster's face, Athos' blue eyes never left d'Artagnan. He was afraid if he took his eyes off the lad, for even one second, he might disappear again.

"Athos." Crooking his finger at the older man d'Artagnan noted the fond look his mentor gave him. "Do you realize you didn't acknowledge Their Majestys at all when you came into the room," he whispered.

Turning beet red, Athos turned to the young monarchs. "Apologies. I was so excited to see our pup that I have no other excuse than that."

"I totally understand, Athos," King Louis waved the Musketeer's apology aside. "I would have been surprised at any other response from you."

"Not to interrupt," Sebastien politely broke in, "but I wanted to ask a question." When all eyes rested on him, he continued. "Does d'Artagnan always say he's _fine_ when he clearly is not?"

"That's the whelp's pat answer," Porthos jovially replied. "Kid could be sufferin' a concussion, barely able ta stay awake and he'd still say he was _fine_."

"D'Artagnan never fails to amaze us with his resiliency to bounce back," Aramis chuckled.

"I sometimes manage to even amaze myself," d'Artagnan cheekily added, to which all burst out with much laughter. When everyone's mirth subsided, his eyes sought the king's. "What will be your next move, Sire?"

"Now that you have been safely returned to us," his resolve hardening, King Louis would not be swayed from his decision, "I will demand Cardinal Richelieu to present himself to me on the morrow."

"I wonder if the good cardinal's discovered that d'Artagnan has flown the coop." Fingers in his weapon's belt, Aramis rocked back and forth on his heels.

"It would be worth my next two pays ta see 'is face when 'e does." Tugging on d'Artagnan's foot, Porthos winked at the kid.

"We will all get to see his _face_ , Porthos, because every one of you will attend my audience with His Eminence." The ones that had been wronged had a right to be present, so King Louis believed. "That will include my old fox and d'Artagnan as well."

"Tis time for Cardinal Richelieu to feel the monarchy's full wrath." Queen Anne's voice joined that of her husband's.

"Richelieu will finally get hoisted on his own petard. Tis only right." Wearing a broad smirk upon his face Athos ran his fingers lightly through the Gascon's long hair, chuckling when d'Artagnan tried to bat his hand away.

"Karma has no menu. You get served what you deserve." Catching the king's eye, Aramis received a curt nod in turn knowing that His Majesty felt exactly the same.

"For now let us all retire and leave d'Artagnan to rest up." Walking back over to the youth, King Louis held out his hand. When the lad gripped it, he did something out of character and pulled the Gascon into a brief hug. "You and I will become firm friends once we put all of this ugliness behind us."

Choking up at his monarch's words, d'Artagnan's eyes were moist with emotion. "Your Majesty, you do me an honor."

"Nonsense!" Releasing the Gascon, King Louis was in better spirits. "I see great things in store for you and I together."

"And the future of a better France once it is rid of Richelieu's influence," Queen Anne added, delighted that her husband now considered d'Artagnan to be part of their extended family which also included Captain Treville. When a huge yawn escaped the Gascon it was then, with Constance's help, that Queen Anne ushered everyone out of the room.

++++

_Next day, early morning – Palais-Cardinal_

Unaware that the Gascon was no longer under his roof, Richelieu received the king’s missive requesting his presence at the Louvre immediately. The more he perused the letter, Richelieu became slightly concerned. The wording of it read more as a demand than a request. Perhaps Louis got up on the wrong side of the bed this morn. It wouldn’t be the first time the young monarch had done so..

Staring at the massive amounts of paperwork that had accumulated upon his desk, Richelieu sighed and figured he would have to tackle it at another time. The king always did have the most damnable timing when Louis needed to meet with him!

Without checking on how his reluctant guest was faring, Richelieu donned his red cape and left his chambers. Stepping into his carriage he had no idea it would be his last time doing so.

++++

_Porthos’ apartments_

Having the night before all agreed to meet at Porthos’ place the following day, Athos and Aramis waited for their friend to finish his ablutions.

Perching one hip on top of an empty table, Aramis hummed quietly to himself. As for Athos he sat at the same table with his legs propped on top, chapeau pulled low over his eyes, while leaning back in a chair.

“Porthos,” Athos drawled, “how much longer are you going to take?”

“We thought you would have been ready upon our arrival.” Hearing his friend only grunt in response to their questions, Aramis’ lips curled upward. Folding his arms he continued humming, even though he knew it got on Athos’ nerves.

“Porthos!” This time Athos’ voice rose an octave higher. He was clearly irritated by the tardiness of his brother. “I would like us to arrive at the Louvre _before_ His Majesty pronounces his sentence upon our _beloved_ cardinal.”

Grinning at the sarcastic note to Athos' voice when referring to His Eminence, Aramis added his own two cents. “Can you see King Louis’ face if we arrive late?” Directing the question to Athos, Aramis mockingly shuddered.

When he finally emerged from his bedroom, Porthos walked past the table where both his brothers were. Donning his doublet, weapon’s belt and chapeau, he then opened the door for them to depart. Pausing halfway through it Porthos threw over his shoulder, “What are ya two doin’ relaxin’ when we got ta get ta the palace pronto?”

After Porthos left them, Athos’ eyes narrowed on the partially open door. Slowly he removed one leg after the other from the table, got up, bumped shoulders with Aramis and followed their friend out.

Having thought upon taking Porthos to task for acting like _he_ was the one on time and that Athos and Aramis were the tardy ones, a look at Athos shaking his head back at him made Aramis decide against it. Closing the door behind him he clucked. “Tis not even worth arguing over I guess.” Slapping Athos on the back both of them quickly caught up with Porthos.

++++

_Royal Palace - Throne Room_

Filing into the throne room the inseparables noted that King Louis immediately acknowledged them with a look of absolute relief on his face.

"His Majesty probably wondered what happened to us," Athos murmured low for Aramis' ears. Shooting a sharp look back at Porthos, whom Athos was positive had heard his words to the marksman, he noted his larger comrade wince slightly.

"Ya know I could definitely be a mornin' person if mornin' started at noon," Porthos quietly said as way of explanation for his not being ready on time.

"That's your excuse?" Covering his mouth Aramis didn't dare let the king see his amusement. This wasn't the time nor the place for such levity. Waving his hand at Porthos not to say anything further, Aramis pointed to where d'Artagnan, Captain Treville and Constance were seated. "Let us all join them."

++++

Having kept one eye on the entrance for Cardinal Richelieu's arrival, and the other on his old fox and young champion, King Louis let out a breath he didn't even know he held upon noting the inseparables walk in. They were his best soldiers and he needed them to be here by his side now more than ever.

His throne room was filled to capacity with Musketeers, including the injured ones that could be safely moved here. He wanted them all in attendance, feeling it was their right to see him dole out punishment to the ones who dealt them such a terrible blow. Which not only destroyed their Garrison but killed many of their comrades along with wounding and maiming countless others.

Queen Anne held her husband's hand, providing support she knew he had come to expect. Having no idea what thoughts were running through his head Queen Anne did know for certain that Cardinal Richelieu was going to be brought to his knees before his victims.

++++

_Note:_

_Quote_ : _"Karma has no menu. You get served what you deserve."_ is from Aunty Acid.

 _Quote: "You know I could definitely be a morning person if morning started at noon"_ is from Aunty Acid.


	15. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once more with feeling...  
> My thanks to all of you that gave me kudos, and great comments along the way, and enjoyed my version of the prompt given by Anonymous.  
> I had great fun with it and do hope you like the ending I gave it.
> 
> Oh yeah. I'm going to say this chapter has a warning. So beware. I don't want to say what or it would spoil everything. So watch for it.
> 
> ++++

_We left everyone in the Royal Throne Room waiting anxiously for the cardinal's arrival_

Upon his entrance a great hush filled the room, instantly putting Richelieu on the alert that something was wrong. Eyes darting back and forth, throughout the area, they ended up riveted upon a sight that surprised as well as sickened him... _D'Artagnan!_ Impossible! How did he manage to escape, hampered as he was by his injuries? Yet here he sits.

Even if the Gascon hadn't been in attendance noting that nearly every able bodied Musketeer, and even those still recuperating from their wounds, were present told Richelieu that he was in dire trouble. Approaching the dais Richelieu bowed before his king and queen. Upon raising his head back up, he found himself actually stepping back a pace or two from the fire he noted burning hotly in the eyes of King Louis.

"Athos," King Louis didn't need to look at the lieutenant for Athos knew what would be asked of him, "bring them."

Parading out, before all and sundry, were Cyprien and the badly beaten Bruyere. They were surrounded by at least a dozen Musketeers, including Athos at the front.

"Hold out your hand, Cardinal!" Standing now, King Louis waited for Richelieu to comply to his demand.

Stilling his trembling hand, Richelieu obeyed His Majesty's order.

Slapping the missive in His Eminence's hand, King Louis watched the play of emotions crossing the cardinal's face. He was slightly amused, when Richelieu's expression of shock and dismay registered for all of them to witness.

"As you most evidently can see," pointing to where d'Artagnan was seated beside his old fox, King Louis' voice was darkly grim, "my champion has made a miraculous escape from the Palais-Cardinal where you have been holding him, Cardinal."

Bereft of words, Richelieu held his tongue for once not knowing what words to convey that would clear his guilt. How much did the king know and when did he know it? Had both Cyprien and Bruyere given him up, in regards to Richelieu's involvement with the Garrison's destruction? For all King Louis knew Richelieu could have held d'Artagnan in trade for an entirely different reason.

"Stop trying to think of something that would appease me!" Walking around the stiff form of His Eminence, King Louis showed how disappointed he was with the man. "Was every word from your lips to me a lie?"

His mind was a blank slate, utterly blank. Opening his mouth to respond it was the bitter expression on the young monarch's face that made him hesitate.

"I'll try and make myself believe that there was at some point good in you until your hunger for power took control." This had to be the longest uninterrupted conversation King Louis ever had with Richelieu. It was nice for a change, but for all the wrong reasons.

"And so very jealous of the Musketeer regiment that you had to blow it up!" Treville heatedly added.

There went Richelieu's thoughts upon trying to salvage his reputation and career. It laid in tatters at the king's feet. His heart plummeted even further upon noting other Red Guards being brought out at sword's point. They were the few that helped him plot the demise of the Garrison.

"There's an introduction I'd like to make while we're at it." Waving his hand at Athos the Musketeer brought forth a young man dressed in regular attire. "Recognize him, Cardinal?"

"His name slips my mind, Sire." Which was about all Richelieu could offer His Majesty.

Smirking, King Louis wasn't in the least surprised. "In other words Richelieu never knew who you were," he glanced at Sebastien. A rueful look upon his face, he tisked. "I always said it pays to know the people you employ."

Wondering how this young man fit into the scheme of things, Richelieu stared hard at him. Recognition was still out of his grasp as to the identity of this individual.

"Go ahead," King Louis encouraged. "Introduce yourself to Cardinal Richelieu." Sitting back down beside his queen, King Louis observed what was sure to come as an unpleasant surprise to His Eminence.

"I am Sebastien Langlais, Cardinal. Formerly of your Red Guards."

"Formerly?" Raising a brow in question, Richelieu didn't understand.

"He switched sides upon finding out what a snake in the grass you were!" snarled an infuriated d'Artagnan.

Lips twitching King Louis raised a hand at the young Gascon, hoping to calm the lad's legendary temper. It was almost as bad as Treville's. Both men hailing from Gascony it was expected but something King Louis didn't want let loose for the moment.

Feeling the hands of Aramis and Porthos squeezing his shoulders in total understanding, d'Artagnan relaxed into their touch.

"An apt description, mon frere." Arching a brow of approval at the young Gascon, Athos' blue eyes darkened with an inner rage at Richelieu.

His mentor's breath tickled d'Artagnan's ear, when Athos leaned down to whisper those words. "I wanted to call him more than that but will concede to His Majesty's wants," he growled low.

"I joined up when you reformed the Red Guards," Sebastian went on to explain. "But was soon disillusioned with their misdeeds and words."

"It was thanks to Sebastien that we have d'Artagnan back safe and somewhat sound." Oh what a pleasure to see King Louis get one up on the cardinal. Judging by the total stunned look of disbelief on Richelieu's pale face, this made up for all those times when King Louis had to concede to the cardinal's wishes against his own.

"And it was Athos, Porthos and Aramis that were relied upon to wring the truth out of Bruyere and Cyprien." Relishing this final victory over Richelieu, Treville noted that his men, Their Majesty's and Constance felt an overwhelming amount of satisfaction as well.

"We also have Sebastian to thank for overhearing your Red Guards talking about the fellow who was good with explosives." Noting Cyprien wouldn't meet King Louis' eyes he carried on. "Bad form I must say of your men speaking so freely of something that could come back to haunt you, Cardinal." Chuckling, King Louis made a great show of covering his mouth then uncovering it again as another fit of laughter escaped him. "But wait! It did come back to haunt you after all!"

Hearing his name softly being spoken from behind, King Louis turned his gaze upon his wife. Holding out his hand he waited for her to take it into her own as they rose together.

"If you remembered our last conversation, Cardinal," Queen Anne's gaze remained riveted upon Richelieu's frozen features, "I had warned you I would be watching and waiting." Her blue eyes were diamond hard as they rested upon the creature His Eminence had become. "My days of waiting were over the minute we lost the Garrison. I had my suspicions even then that you were somehow the instigator behind it all and couldn't hold back from telling my husband that you tried to have me killed."

Gasps of shock and outrage filled the throne room for this was the first time the other Musketeers had heard of this horrific crime against the crown. The only ones not in the least phased by the news were, of course, the inseparables, d'Artagnan, Constance and Captain Treville.

"For that alone your life would have been forfeit, "looking at her quiet radiance, King Louis was pleased with how she stood up to Richelieu, "if not for the kind heart of my queen." Lifting her hand to his lips he pressed a soft kiss upon it. Gently releasing her hand King Louis stepped into Richelieu's space. His voice was hard and cold, holding back the turbulent emotions swirling within him. "You have cut me to the quick in so many pieces I cannot count them all." Abruptly he turned away from the man who, in the past, had shared his most secret confidences. "The Red Guards that stand before me now were involved in your plotting and therefore will all lose their heads."

His look one of distaste, King Louis pointed at Cyprien. "Because that man cooperated after you had Bruyere try to murder him he shall be hung by the neck until dead." Looking at Porthos he nodded for the darker-skinned Musketeer had informed him of the criminal's request. "For some reason Cyprien doesn't like the sight of blood and felt hanging to be the lesser of two evils. Which is rather strange for he shall be too dead to witness it himself but if that is what he so desires it shall be done."

Receiving a look from his king, it was Treville's turn. "The Garrison that you tried to destroy is well on its way to being rebuilt. Not only by my men but from His Majesty's subjects as well. They have been a tremendous help not only in the rebuilding but in bolstering our spirits." Needing to rub it in as best he could Treville added, "Losing the number of brave and loyal Musketeers from this travesty hurt us deeply but we're recruiting in even larger numbers than before." Tilting his head to the side he enjoyed Richelieu's complete and utter downfall. "In the end we have you to thank for making us stronger than ever." Signaling to Athos his lieutenant stepped forward.

"It is my honor to inform everyone that this time the Red Guards are disbanded forever! Never to be seen nor heard of again!" The response to this announcement nearly deafened Athos. Loud cheers rent the air from everyone in the room. Well everyone that wasn't guilty of going against the crown that is. The sound alone could have knocked Athos off his feet. His brothers Porthos and Aramis were grinning like silly loons, as were Constance and Treville. For that matter so were Their Majestys.

"Normal protocol is for me to wait to hear back from Rome before pronouncing your sentence, Cardinal Richelieu." His eyes shifted toward his captain then settled back again upon the unusually silent cardinal. "More than likely they would have me send you back to them to be defrocked." Tapping his lip with a finger, King Louis studied His Eminence. "Tis not going to satisfy me nor France if I do that."

"As I've been thinking upon this I've come to a solution." Sending the cardinal a smile full of deadly intent, King Louis rubbed his hands together. "Rome will hear from me in due course." Rounding on Richelieu, his heart pounding in his chest, he had to remind himself not to lose control. "But because of your actions against myself, my queen and my Musketeers I ask one thing of you, Cardinal."

Finding his voice gone suddenly bone dry, Richelieu tried to swallow before stuttering out a response. "What is... what is that, Sire? I would do... do anything."

" _Anything?_ " A fleeting expression of sorrow stole over King Louis' face and then it was gone in a flash. "Bien," he dipped his head thoughtfully for a second, "then give my regards to le diable." Without a moment's hesitation King Louis whipped out his rapier to run it through Cardinal Richelieu's chest, thrusting upward.

It hadn't bothered King Louis that he had succeeded in shocking everyone in the room with his actions. Pulling his blade freely from the cardinal's dead body, he calmly observed the corpse drop to the floor. Wiping his bloody sword on Richelieu's red cape King Louis sheathed it in his scabbard. "There! I've just saved the taxpayers from another beheading!" Noting his wife appeared pleased at what he had done, giving him a regal nod of her approval, King Louis motioned for Sebastian to come forward. "Kneel before me."

Bewildered, not knowing what was about to happen, Sebastien's arm was caught by d'Artagnan before he had even moved a foot.

"Do it before His Majesty changes his mind," d'Artagnan whispered urgently. With a smile tugging his lips, brown eyes alight with humor, he watched Sebastien slowly approach the king.

When Sebastien stood nervously before him, King Louis bestowed a tolerant look upon young d'Artagnan. It was some time ago when the Gascon had admitted to him what Athos had said to d'Artagnan when the lad had won his cherished pauldron. Despite himself, King Louis found it all highly amusing. It was a good king that could laugh at himself.

Coming up onto the raised dais, Sebastien knelt before his monarch. With his head bent down he felt the touch of King Louis' blade upon each of his shoulders. The joy that encompassed his entire being, in that moment, would have made him fly around the room if Sebastien had grown wings.

"You may now rise, Sebastien of the king's Musketeers." Stepping back from the younger man, King Louis' applause joined that of everyone else in welcoming their newest member to the ranks.

A roar of approval swept the throne room, making Sebastien blush with the pleasure of it.

Clearing his throat, King Louis glanced over to several of his own guards. "Remove that body from my sight." Turning to Queen Anne, his lips twisted ruefully. "I suppose it will be tedious dealing with Rome over all of this," he shrugged. "C'est la vie."

There were still two more items left to deal with on King Louis' agenda for the day. If it hadn't been for a gentle reminder the queen had given him, by whispering it in his ear, he would have forgotten all about it. Too much drama on his mind to think upon anything else. But this was important and King Louis would have felt badly if he hadn't acted on it today, since everyone was gathered round.

"Before all of you dispearse for parts unknown," King Louis signaled his guards to keep the doors closed, "I do have two very enjoyable announcements to make!" Grinning from ear to ear he stared at his captain, a sly look entered King Louis' eyes as he did so. "I am now in dire need of a new minister." Noting Treville's look of absolute horror, he couldn't help the glee that filled him. "Treville will do me the honor of taking up the now vacant position. Once he has recovered from his injuries my old fox can then resume duties of the state."

"I will?" Treville grumbled. "Don't I get a vote on this?" Encouraging slaps on the back from the inseparables nearly unseated him from his chair. "Minister?" he scoffed. "I'm an old war horse. Clearly out of my depth when it comes to politics and those who deal in it."

"I take that you agree then." Giggling like a petit garcon who had won the grandest prize at the fair, King Louis pressed on by pointing next at Athos. "With Treville taking up the minister's position," he was still enjoying the surprise he had sprung on his old friend, "hence forth from today Athos will be our new captain of the Musketeers."

Everyone in the throne room cheered the new appointments. Showing their appreciation for what His Majesty had done, all the Musketeers threw their chapeaus into the air expressing their own emotions of joy.

"Athos." Tugging on his mentor's arm, d'Artagnan received no response. "Athos." Porthos and Aramis were the closest to him so he asked, "Is he still breathing?"

Pretending to listen to Athos' chest, Aramis' dark eyes twinkled merrily. "So far so good." He was shoved away hard in the shoulder by Athos who was clearly disgruntled with him.

Holding out his hand d'Artagnan waited for Athos to accept it. "It couldn't have happened to a better person," he meant it with all his heart. "Congratulations, mon ami."

"I need a drink." Still not believing this had just happened to him, Athos shook his head to clear it. "Better yet a couple of bottles of Anjou may do the trick." Him a _captain_. Merde! Perhaps, Athos thought, he was simply dreaming. Oui. That's all this was, he tried to tell himself. A very bad dream.

"You and I can comisserate together later over some of my best brandy, Athos." Still amazed at his own situation, Treville was glad he wasn't in this alone.

"If I have to be captain," stabbing each of his closest brothers with a sharp eye, Atho' brow raised high. "Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan will then become my lieutenants."

Smiles had never left faces so quickly, Treville thought, as it had on those three men.

"Eh?" Porthos grunted his displeasure at the news. "Means more work for us. Yeah?"

Slinging an arm around Porthos' broad shoulders, Aramis slowly nodded his own head. "Afraid so. But on the bright side of things," he patted Porthos' rock solid chest, "hard work never killed anyone, mon frere."

" _Yet_ ya mean," Porthos griped. Rubbing the back of his neck he listened while Aramis laughed gayly. "Does the promotion come with a raise at least?"

Having heard the question, Treville responded to it. "Oui, it does. Makes it a better proposition eh, Porthos?"

"I'll get back ta ya on that later, Minister." Still not happy about things, Porthos glared at Athos. "Hope this doesn't keep us tied down none. I like goin' out on missions."

"It never tied me down that I recall," Athos drawled.

"Hmmmpf!" As Porthos gave it more thought, he came to the conclusion that maybe it was a good thing that happened to him. He could now lord it over certain individuals that always gave him trouble because of the color of his skin. Yeah, he might just get used to this lieutenancy right quick after all.

"I'm too young, Athos. No one but you, Aramis and Porthos would take me seriously." Worrying his lower lip it wasn't until d'Artagnan's mentor gripped his shoulder tightly, to stare directly into his eyes, that d'Artagnan began to relax.

"Do not concern yourself with such trifles, pup." Giving his protégé a warm smile, Athos ruffled the lad's long hair. "We will all learn together."

"Or go down tagether," Porthos quipped, enjoying the roll of eyes he garnered from Minister Treville clear down to young Constance and d'Artagnan.

"I'll need someone to guide me through your routine now that I am one of you." Observing d'Artagnan instantly raise his hand, Sebastien was relieved.

"If you remember two words," d'Artagnan gave Sebastien a cheeky grin, "you'll do fine."

"And they are?" Curious as to what those would be, Sebastien could see they were causing the Gascon nothing but amusement.

" _Common sense_." Noting Sebastien didn't appear to get the jest, d'Artagnan proceeded to explain. "Red Guards had none."

"Tis why they were so inept," Aramis offered, patting his chapeau back into place.

Feeling someone squeeze the back of his neck, Sebastian turned his head slightly to encounter bright blue eyes steadily appraising him.

"Musketeers are never _inept_ plus you have d'Artagnan as your teacher." Athos dipped his head toward their youngest. "He will never steer you wrong."

Blushing at the praise, d'Artagnan shyly ducked his head. When a slim hand brushed his hair away from his face, he glanced up noting Constance's gaze fixed upon him.

"Now that you're a lieutenant," she poked d'Artagnan in the chest lightly, so as not to hurt his healing wounds, "don't start getting a big head." Going to stand behind him, Constance leaned forward to rest her chin on top of d'Artagnan's head. "I love my best friend just the way he is."

While d'Artagnan pondered on how best to respond to Constance's teasing, Sebastien jumped in. "Perhaps one day you would do me the honor of stepping out with me, Constance."

Blinking up at Sebastien like an owl, taken totally off guard, Constance blurted out with, " _What?_ "

Why was Aramis laughing behind Porthos back like that? Scowling at the marksman Sebastien was going to ask him what was so very funny, but Aramis must have realized his actions were upsetting to Sebastien.

Wiping tears from his eyes, Aramis gazed upon Sebastien fondly. "When a woman says, _What?_ Tis not because she didn't hear you. She's just giving you the chance to change what you said."

" _Aramis!_ " Constance hissed between clenched teeth. It didn't help matters when d'Artagnan began laughing. Cuffing her friend lightly on the back of his head, she snapped. "Don't you start!"

Guiding him away from the group, Aramis placed a hand on Sebastien's back. "I like you so I'm going to give you some sound advice where women are concerned."

Knowing Aramis' reputation in and around Paris with his many paramours, Sebastien was ready to soak up the Musketeer's knowledge.

"You know that lovely tingly feeling you get when you're falling for someone?" Waiting for Sebastien to nod his head, Aramis continued. "That's the common sense leaving your body." Hearing Constance yelling at him in the background, Aramis bowed to Sebastien before making a hasty exit.

"I think things are back to normal around here." Wobbling slightly as he stood up, d'Artagnan kept his balance with help from Athos. His mentor kept a firm grip on d'Artagnan's arm as they too left the throne room. It would take some time for them to process everything that happened this morning, but d'Artagnan felt they would all come out the better for it.

Observing Constance chase after Aramis, to give the marksman a good piece of her mind, Athos agreed with the pup. "Oui. Everything is falling back into place again. As it should do."

The End

++++

_Notes:_

Once again, more quotes from Aunty Acid...

_"When a woman says, "What?" It's not because she didn't hear you. She's just giving you the chance to change what you said."_

_"You know that lovely tingly feeling you get when you're falling for someone? That's the common sense leaving your body._


End file.
